


The Haunting of Hrym House

by idanato



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Demonic Beast Marianne, Dread, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horror, Occult, Tarot, Terror, an ill advised threesome, creepier Jeritza, creepy Lysithea, gothic horror, not a happy ending!!!, other characters appear, past Jeritza/Byleth, pregnancy horror, womb horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanato/pseuds/idanato
Summary: Happy newlyweds Mercedes and Hubert leave Enbarr for the summer to visit Mercedes’ estranged brother Emile and his bride-to-be, Bernadetta, deep in the valley of Hrym. Rumors of necromancy have swirled about the place for years, but they soon learn that the dead are not the ones they need fear.“Patience Jeritza. These plans take time,” whispered Lysithea as they looked down at their unsuspecting guests from the top of the staircase. “You will have your precious sister back, soon enough, and I will have my new body.”
Relationships: Mercedes von Martritz/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 70
Kudos: 73





	1. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> This is a horror story. It wasn't written to make you feel good about any of it, and if that's what you're looking for please don't read it. It's meant to be uncomfortable.
> 
> Edit: I bumped this up to explicit from mature and made the tags more clear based on some feedback about the content, and locked this work for only registered users to comment. I did previously have a dead dove do not eat tag on here, but to be frank, it's barely in the same league as other fics in that tag. Still, please be advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fool card depicts a youth walking with his head held high in optimism, straight towards the cliff’s edge. When upright, the fool can represent new beginnings and innocence.

A vacation to the country. For anyone else, this would have been a welcome relief. However, Hubert von Vestra was not like most men of his station, which was solidly at the rock bottom of the upper class. He actually enjoyed working in the Empire’s capital. He thrived in the oppressive air that hung over that too crowded city in the summer. This was the time when everyone else went on vacation, and that made it easier to do his work. He was a junior lawyer serving the Imperial Family, and they had plenty of legal disputes to keep him busy with. 

Yet here he was packing up his needed things from the Privy Council office and preparing to set out to the countryside, and not just a little ways from the capital, he was going across the whole damn Empire. He was visiting Hrym House, the estate of his brother-in-law, for the whole summer. Hubert was not a religious man, but this was surely hell. 

“Most people would be delighted to go on a trip like this,” teased Ferdinand von Aegir from the doorway to Hubert’s office. The Deputy Prime Minister was already in his summer beige and looking tan, and it was barely the start of Garland Moon. Hubert in contrast was still in his preferred dark, heavy government official clothes and looked as if he had no concept of what the sun was. His dark hair hung in his face as usual because he’d failed to schedule a haircut. It was curling and waving as humidity descended upon the city. Ferdinand’s long red hair was tousled too, yet his managed to look effortlessly handsome. 

“I’m not most people,” grumbled Hubert as he resisted the temptation to pack his abacus. “Are you leaving for Aegir House?”

“No, I have special interests in the capital to attend to,” started Ferdinand. 

“Oh no, not that singer still,” said Hubert. He scoffed at his friend, “You know if a woman spoke to me like that I would take the hint and stop trying to court her.” Dorothea Arnault was playing a game with Ferdinand von Aegir, although apparently Ferdinand was the only person who couldn’t see he was losing.

“You’re married, you shouldn’t be courting anyone,” said Ferdinand with a wink. 

Hubert hadn’t even courted his new wife. Their marriage was arranged years ago, back when he was still in law school. It was an unusual match for two unusual people. Hubert was eldest in a house of ill repute with no lands to speak of, and Mercedes von Martritz was a woman whose station had dropped out from under her when her mother made an unusual move and fled her marriage and the Empire all together. 

All of Mercedes’ extended family had died in a tragic fire many years ago. Her half-brother was the sole survivor of that terrible blaze, and he had been sent to distant relations for raising rather than to his runaway mother. Emile von Bartels might have lost much of his father’s wealth in that horrible conflagration, but he managed to land upon his feet and inherited the massive estate of the once prosperous Hrym family. 

The Hryms had always been a troublesome, meddlesome lot and that had eventually gotten them into serious trouble. A few of them were executed for treason against their Emperor almost twenty years back. The Shambahala Plot, named for its alleged fantastical connections to the occult, captivated public interest for a few months in 1168. Hubert had been a child then, but even at age eight he was pretty sure the rumored connections to magic were fiction and that anyone who believed in such supernatural nonsense was probably not very intelligent. 

Following their fall from grace, the Hryms and their territory suffered a mysterious illness that spread to their closest neighbors, the Ordelias, devastating both families and laying waste to their lands. It was all rather strange to say the least, but then there was the whole Insurrection and well, people forgot about the Hryms, the Ordelias, and allegations of all the strange things happening there. 

Hubert arrived to his home, the small cramped one in Enbarr that they could just barely afford, and was greeted with cookies. Mercedes smiled as she lifted hot sweets from the pan to transfer them to a cooling rack, “They’re not ready to eat yet.” 

“Oh no,” said Hubert sarcastically. He did not do sweet things, well, sweet things other than his wife. He stood behind Mercedes to observe her work, and rested his hands upon her hips, “Must we go to Hrym?” 

“I haven’t seen my brother in years, yes, we must go,” said Mercedes with the slightest hint of annoyance. However, if she was mad at him for not wanting to spend months with her estranged brother she was having a funny way of showing it as her body rubbed back against his. Her sandy blond hair smelled like some new delicious floral shampoo and she was wearing it pulled to the side to expose the side of her neck. Hubert kissed the back of her head and wished she hadn’t just put a full tray of sweet buns into the oven so that they could have some quick relations instead. 

Hubert was keenly aware how much he had lucked out with his arranged marriage. His wife was warm and kind in a sincere way and not in the forced polite manner of most nobles. The von Vestras had a scary reputation as the most vicious lawyers in Adrestia, and there were rumors they were cursed, but Mercedes liked scary. She had even grown to love it. 

Their wedding night, which seemed so long ago now, had gotten off to about as awkward a start as either expected as they stiffly engaged in intercourse for the first time for either of them. Follow that fumbling consummation, Mercedes asked if she might read aloud to Hubert from a fun new book she had brought on her trip from Fhirdiad to Enbarr. Hubert, still in the confusing high of having sex for the first time, had agreed even though normally he would have said no. The book she was enjoying so much was absolutely horrifying and Hubert was on the edge of the bed with anticipation as Mercedes read the macabre volume to him. It wasn’t love at first sight between them, but perhaps it was love at first ghost story. 

Hubert sighed and kissed Mercedes on the neck once more, “Fine, fine, I’ll finish packing.” 

“Come on, we’re taking a train! You love trains!” chided Mercedes as she started to prepare another tray. She didn’t quite remember what sweets her brother liked so she was attempting to make them all. 

“I like thinking about how they work, not riding on them,” said Hubert as he leaned into his naturally grumpy ways. Mercedes smiled at him though in a way that made him feel like everything would be wonderful about this trip because it was a place they were going together. 

***

The train to the Hrym territory took four days. “So much for modern speedy travel,” grumbled Hubert as he paid for a newspaper at the station they were stuck at for a few hours on the morning of the second day. 

Mercedes scoffed at his complaining as she tugged at his arm, “It’s our first vacation Hubert, we should enjoy the journey, not just rush to our destination! Come on, I want to go to breakfast there.” She pointed at a charming little cafe. 

Mercedes looked elegant as usual in her summer whites as she sat at the perfectly set table. She sipped her tea and spread clotted cream upon an orange and raspberry scone. No matter the meal, her sweet tooth never wavered. Everything she did managed to look delicate and easy. 

Hubert drew a stark contrast to her in his preferred dark clothes as he drank too much coffee and flipped through his newspaper. They were quite the odd couple; she was soft and light, and he was sharp and dark. Yet they made a striking pair of tall silhouettes when they walked side by side, her shadow looking curved and voluptuous while his was slim and dangerous. 

“The scones are good, you might want to eat one,” suggested Mercedes pleasantly as she pushed breakfast towards her husband. 

Hubert peered over his paper, “Oh? What are they not loaded with sugar?”

“They are,” said Mercedes with a teasing intent in her blue eyes. Her foot rubbed casually against his leg, “I’m just suggesting we have plenty of time to kill in our sleeper cabin and you might want the energy.” 

Hubert said nothing as he wolfed down the too sweet breakfast and then rushed back to the train to wolf down his too sweet wife. 

***

Mercedes pulled on Hubert’s arm as she cut a path towards the dining car. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.” 

Hubert would rather not go at all. The people they were meeting on the train were the whole damn reason for this blasted trip. The von Varleys had arranged their daughter Bernadetta, a recluse, to marry Emile von Bartels, another recluse, and it was suggested that having Mercedes and Hubert around for the summer might make this transition easier on the poor girl. Sure, marry shy Bernadetta off to a stranger and surround her with other strangers, a fabulous idea. 

Hubert also just did not like the von Varleys on principle. They were a greedy family who were essentially paid off to push the Church’s agenda in the Empire. Hubert was areligious at best, and downright anti-religious at his worst. Mercedes however was handling that part of the conversation beautifully. 

“Oh yes, I actually spent some years in a convent as a young woman,” said Mercedes pleasantly. She was holding Hubert’s hand as she spoke. She gave it a gentle squeeze, “In another life I might have become a nun, but, this life is suiting me just fine.” 

“Well you will have to make sure to take dear Bernadetta to church with you, left to her own devices our daughter would never leave her room,” said Mr. von Varley with a long unfavorable stare at his daughter. She was a small young woman, with gentle downcast eyes and an expression of resigned hopelessness. She had yet to speak beyond her murmured introduction. 

“Maybe she just prefers to pray alone,” suggested Hubert dryly as Mercedes gave his hand a less than gentle pinch. He did see the smallest smile on Bernadetta’s lips as she continued to stare at the table. Maybe she wouldn’t be insufferable about the Goddess after all. 

“You must be so excited about the wedding,” said Mercedes warmly as she tried to shift the conversation to Bernadetta and away from the girl’s parents. 

Bernadetta looked like she wanted nothing more than to jump from the train at the suggestion. Her voice was soft and breathy, “I am most looking forward to the wedding.” 

Mercedes and Hubert exchanged quick glances that were definitely observed by Mr. von Varley. He looked at his daughter with a scowl, “Bernadetta will be a fine wife for Mr. von Bartels, isn’t that right Bernadetta?” 

“Yes father,” said Bernadetta as their food was brought out. She barely touched her plate. 

Back in their sleeper cabin, Hubert lounged on the small bed while waiting for Mercedes to finish braiding her long hair. “She’s absolutely terrified,” whispered Mercedes gravely. “I expected her to be a little reluctant, but my goodness! And her father, ugh, what an overbearing brute.” 

Hubert sighed, “How did you really feel about coming on the train down to Enbarr to marry me? I remember you looked less than thrilled when I pulled up your veil.” 

Mercedes gave him a challenging smile, “Don’t be unfair to me Hubie.” 

Oh curse that singer Dorothea and her nicknames, and curse Ferdinand for bringing her around to dinner. 

“Show me some Mercie,” teased Hubert. Mercedes bit her lip and winked at him as she took off her robe and settled into the tight little bed they shared on this train. He looked at her tenderly, “Let us be honest here, you did not have much enthusiasm about our marriage when it was arranged.” 

“Fine, no, but I wasn’t terrified, I was just, a little, disappointed,” admitted Mercedes. “I thought I was going to be a nun! Then I ended up engaged to a horrid, blasphemous atheist.” She kissed him and smiled. 

“The most horrid, blasphemous atheist around,” promised Hubert as he kissed her back. Well it was half true, he and Lady Edelgard were perhaps tied for that title. 

“You know, maybe if you threw a prayer to the goddess now and then our union might finally be blessed,” she teased as he got on top of her. 

“Why is it that the moment people want a baby it seems impossible to make one?” asked Hubert gently as pushed a few stray blond hairs out of Mercedes’ face. 

“You complain as if you dislike this part,” said Mercedes with a small breathy sigh as he entered her. Hubert did enjoy this part quite a bit. They’d been married for a scant four months and while things were rocky to start, they had figured it out quickly enough. Hubert was content to not get Mercedes pregnant anytime soon, even though his family kept reminding him that she was already 28 and he’d better put a baby in her as fast as possible before he ran out of time. 

“Well as long as you aren’t complaining about disliking it, I am happy,” said Hubert as he tried not to make too much noise. They were still considered newlyweds, but he didn’t need the whole train speculating about what they were up to, especially not with those blasted von Varleys in the adjacent sleeper cabin. Well, with that thought, he supposed that maybe a few well timed grunts and moans should escape the confines of their accommodations. 

***

They were stopped again. This time they were in the middle of nowhere someplace in the Aegir territory waiting for some cows to get off the tracks. Hubert checked his watch, great, they would get into the Hrym station after dark, thank you cows. 

“Maybe Seiros is sending us a divine message to go home,” suggested Hubert as he strolled with his arm around Mercedes. 

“Stop,” laughed Mercedes as she swung her unnecessary parasol. “They’re just cows doing cow things. And you need to refresh your memory on the scriptures, I don’t believe the goddess typically sends messages through livestock.” 

Hubert let out a dramatic sigh as they made their way back towards the train. Most people were taking this as a chance to stretch their legs and pick wildflowers to make little garlands. Mercedes had made herself one and was now making one for Hubert. “Make it all poison flowers please,” he teased as she rolled her eyes. 

She plopped the garland on his head and kissed his cheek, “No.” 

“Oh no, Varleys, ten o’clock, run,” muttered Hubert as he watched Mrs. von Varley walking towards them with demure little Bernadetta just behind her. 

“Stop,” hissed Mercedes as she straightened out his collar and attempted to make her husband more presentable. 

Mrs. von Varley surveyed the pair with a pleasant but clearly false smile, “You’re newlyweds, correct?”

Mercedes laced her fingers with Hubert’s, “We were wed four months ago now. I’m told that still counts as new.” 

“Yes, the first year is typically the new period, although from the sounds of it you’re still in your honeymoon phase,” said Mrs. von Varley dryly.

Mercedes grew red but Hubert just laughed as he tightened his hold on her hand, “Apologies Mrs. von Varley, my wife and I are attempting to start a family, we’ll try to keep it down tonight.” 

“We would greatly appreciate that Mr. von Vestra,” said Mrs. von Varley with ice in her voice. Oh good, Hubert would be extra loud just for the expression it was sure to put on her sour face. 

Bernadetta looked rather ill as she stared at the ground. Mercedes removed her floral garland and gently placed it upon the girl’s violet head, “I am looking forward to being sisters dear Bernadetta.” 

Bernadetta glanced up with panic and then forced a smile, “I greatly look forward to that too.” 

“Come, let’s make another crown,” suggested Mercedes as she led Bernadetta into the wildflower pasture, leaving Hubert next to the waylaid train and at the mercy of Mrs. von Varley. Hubert mentally willed the cows to hurry up and get off the tracks.


	2. The Four of Wands, Reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Four of Wands card displays a structure reminiscent of a wedding arch erected on the lands of a great estate.  
> Upright, it can signify marriage, celebration, and homecoming. When reversed, something may be amiss about a situation and things may not be as they seem.
> 
> Chapter includes a quotes from Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson (1886).

They rolled into the train station later than expected. Yet thankfully the carriage sent to fetch them had waited through the extra hours. Less than thankfully, the thing was ancient and creaky looking. Hubert surveyed the wheels and imagined himself dying in a massive wreck. He gave Mercedes a dubious look, and she responded with a low whisper, “Stop! You only get one chance at a first impression.”

Hubert shrugged, her brother wasn’t here, just his strange footman, a sickly-looking man by the name of Linhardt. “Let’s hope there aren’t too many tight turns on cliff sides,” grumbled Hubert as he followed Mercedes into the carriage. He found himself stuck in a middle seat between his wife and his soon to be sister-in-law, with the unpleasant von Varleys practically bumping his knees across from him.

It was dark inside the cramped little carriage but soon Mr. and Mrs. von Varley’s snores filled the space. Mercedes giggled softly, “It’s not _that_ late.”

Hubert figured no one could see him as he wrapped his arm around his wife and gave her a kiss, “Let’s not complain about small blessings.”

Bernadetta made no noise at all. He’d almost believe she’d been left behind at the station if he could not feel her quivering beside him. Maybe getting too touchy with Mercedes was rude and Hubert resorted to some tame petting of her shoulder as they tried to look out the dark windows. They could see nothing.

The von Varleys were impressive in their ability to sleep through the bumps of the long carriage ride. Even Mercedes was eventually lulled to sleep by boredom. Hubert heard the faint sounds of Bernadetta attempting to keep her crying quiet. Hubert had no words for her that would make this better; he knew nothing of her future husband and he was not one to make false promises just to comfort someone. All he had was a handkerchief which he offered her in the dark.

“Thank you Mr. von Vestra,” whispered Bernadetta before she let out a muffled sob into the cloth.

“Ms. von Varley, your fear is very understandable. Everyone is nervous before an arranged marriage, but most of these unions turn out fine,” whispered Hubert. He recognized with shame that he would probably not add the next part if Mercedes was awake, “However, if things truly are _bad_ , let me know. I am a lawyer, and there’s always a way out of a contract.”

Bernadetta was silent, then spoke like she was reading from a script, “Good wives make for good marriages.” She said nothing more for the entire ride.

Finally, hours later they arrived at Hrym House at about midnight. Hubert had been awake the entire time even as Mercedes cuddled and slept beside him. It seemed timid Bernadetta had also not gotten a wink of sleep based on the steady trembling sound of her breath.

Linhardt opened the carriage door with a yawn, “Welcome to Hrym House, so on and so forth.”

Hubert nudged Mercedes awake so that she would get out and he could get free. It was raining and they had to huddle beneath her tiny parasol as they made their way up the many steps to the looming front door. It opened with a low creak as they came into the foyer.

The house, or maybe small castle was more apt, was toeing the line between historic and ancient. It had kept up with the times: a few bright new electric lamps were interspersed among oil lamps, and medieval looking iron floor candelabras. All over were things that looked a touch too modern with things that could have been original to the house. It almost made the place seem like time had broken, with the past and present mingling simultaneously without care for natural order.

Hubert tried not stare with his mouth open at the ornately carved mahogany staircase wrapping along the walls. Paintings of long dead Hryms cramped the available wall space and a massive chandelier cast a ruby red glow in the room. Mercedes had said her brother was well off, but this was Aegir level wealth as far as Hubert could see. He wasn’t one to generally feel too self-conscious about his precarious position at the lower end of the nobility, but this place was startling in its opulence. From what she’d shared, Mercedes had grown up in rather modest conditions at the convent. Clearly, her half-brother had not. Hubert wondered if this was like the sort of place Mercedes had grown up in until her mother fled to Fhirdiad with her. Something terrible must have prompted them to run from this sort of grandiose setting to vows of poverty.

“Emile!” smiled Mercedes as she embraced her severe looking half-brother as he arrived at the foyer. Hubert could see the strong family resemblance in Emile’s long blond hair and pale blue eyes, though his were far more hooded than Mercedes’. Despite their shared looks, Emile lacked all his sister’s mirth.

Hubert was used to being one of the tallest people in any given room so it was a surprise to be just shy of eye level with his imposing looking brother-in-law, “Pleasure to meet you at last.” Emile had not made the trip to Enbarr for Hubert and Mercedes’ extremely small wedding, apparently he rarely left his lands.

“Yes,” said Emile slowly in his deep voice. “Are you treating _my_ Mercedes well?”

Hubert felt far more nervous than he had anticipated as he swallowed, “Well, I try to.”

Mercedes laughed and hugged herself to Hubert’s side, “We’re quite happy.”

“Good,” said Emile, although Hubert felt suddenly ill as he wondered what Emile would have done if Mercedes had said they _weren’t_ happy. Thankfully the von Varleys had finished ascending the stairs up to the house and could distract their host away from poor Hubert.

“Welcome to my estate,” said Emile as he bowed at his future father-in-law. His gaze shifted to Bernadetta, who shrank in place, “You must be my fiancee.”

Mr. von Varley gave Bernadetta a noticeable nudge forward and she let out a quick sigh, “Yes! Yes, I am.” She curtsied in a rush. Hubert felt a pang of sympathy for her; her fiance was amazingly intimidating to him, and he could only imagine what that poor frightened girl was feeling.

Emile surveyed the group, “My servants shall ensure your bags are brought up to you. For now, my staff will show you to your rooms. Be aware, there are other guests here for the wedding, so please, try not to make too much noise.” Hubert did not miss the small terrified sound that Bernadetta made at the word wedding.

Mercedes and Hubert were led to their room by an unhappy looking maid named Shamir. “Nevrand, is that a Leiscester name?” tried Mercedes sweetly.

“I’m from Dagda,” said Shamir as she unlocked the door to their room. She had all the humor and warmth of a marble statue.

“Oh, how interesting,” said Mercedes with a pointed look at Hubert. Dagda and Brigid had lost their war against the Empire, but not after burning the Adrestian coastline and obliterating a few territories like Ochs and Nuvelle. Suffice to say individuals from Dagda and Brigid were poorly received on the mainland, and it was rather curious to meet someone from there. Mercedes smiled at Shamir, “Do you miss it?”

“I don’t live there for a reason,” said Shamir as she set to lighting up the lamps for them before unenthusiastically explaining they could ring a bell for service. The way she said it made it seem like their requests would be begrudgingly served as slowly as possible.

The guest room had the same richly carved mahogany paneling as the foyer, and lots of dark crimson furnishings. Hubert had seen how slowly Linhardt was at bringing up the first trunk, and he didn’t expect to see their bags for a while. Hubert took Mercedes’ coat off and then started to help her out of her dress.

“I don’t have my nightgown yet,” she protested as his fingers started to undo the many buttons that went down her back.

“We’ll have to find some way to pass the time,” suggested Hubert as he kissed an exposed patch of her back.

“We need to wait for the trunk,” said Mercedes. “We can do other things once we’re sure we won’t be interrupted.”

“As you wish,” sighed Hubert as he redid the couple of buttons he’d undone. He contented himself to look through the books on the shelf. “Looks like your brother shares your taste in genre.”

“Oh yes, Emile and I both loved scary stories as children,” smiled Mercedes as her fingers traced the spine of a familiar title. She pulled it free, “ _Mr. Jeritza and Dr. von Hyde_ , oh I so enjoy this one, have you read it?”

“Why don’t you read some to me?” suggested Hubert as he led her to an armchair. He built up some wood in the fireplace as Mercedes got comfortable and opened the book. Hubert sat at the foot of the chair as she began to read the text, “Mr. Utterson, the lawyer, was a man of rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile, oh Hubert this sounds just like you!”

“Rugged am I?” demanded Hubert as he pushed up her skirt. “Tell me more about this lawyer.”

“Cold, scanty, and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable,” smiled Mercedes as she continued to read.

“Exactly like me,” whispered Hubert as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

“Oh Hubie, you’re not going to be focused on the story at all,” she giggled as he buried his face between her legs. No, Hubert had other interests than tales about grumpy lawyers. He let her continue to read since she loved the book so, but he didn’t intend for reading to be the only pleasure she had while they waited on their luggage.

“I want your brother to hear how well I’m treating you,” he whispered between kisses as he sank in closer to her.

“We should keep it down,” whispered Mercedes as she grew serious.

“Do you want me to stop?” asked Hubert plainly, though he suspected he knew the answer.

She smirked as she put her legs over his shoulders and flipped to the next page in her book, “I said we should be quiet, not that we had to stop.”

Hubert tried not snicker at her response before making love to her with his mouth. She continued to read, and her words seemed to follow the ebb and flow of her pleasure. She was a wonderful orator and had a keen sense of tempo. She knew how to pause and draw out a syllable for full effect as if an unseen conductor was guiding her along. When she read him ghost stories she made the sense of dread pull at his gut and grow until it was too much. She was good at getting him to hang on every word like he was under a spell. Hubert would have never expected that reading could be made into foreplay, but Mercedes had a way of injecting sensuality into even the most mundane of things.

After their trunks arrived and they readied for sleep, Hubert and Mercedes settled in and tested the fortitude of the bed. It was insufferably squeaky beneath them and the floorboards were moaning louder than they were. The ambiance was only enhanced by the scratching of a tree against the side of the house.

“Wonderful, we’re going to conceive in the scariest place on earth,” laughed Hubert as he held Mercedes after. “Our child will be a sociopath.”

“Shush,” whispered Mercedes as she got comfortable. “It’s not scary! It’s just an old house.”

Tell the howling wind that. Tell the moon cast shadows dancing in through the window. Tell the creaking stairs as someone restless climbed to the second floor.

“Is this similar to the estate you grew up in?” asked Hubert as he stared at the intricate crown molding running around the room.

Mercedes made a soft disgusted sound, “Yes and no. Yes, it was an old ornate estate, but, a house is just that, it is the people inside it that truly shape it.” She curled against him, “The convent was a bare bones building. It was cold in the winter, hot in the summer, and the food had no taste. My clothes were always itchy and I had so many chores, and yet I would not trade that place for even a minute more of the von Bartels and their mountain of gold.”

What he wanted to ask was “ _What did they do, to you?_ ” but he was too afraid to know the answer. He suspected his childhood had been tame and mundane in comparison, though he’d never call it happy. He grew up in a cold and formal world where asking too many questions was incredibly dangerous. So instead of risking bringing up more painful memories for her, he held Mercedes close. “We’ll make ourselves a happy home,” he promised her quietly.

Hubert woke just before dawn to Mercedes screaming herself awake. “What’s wrong?” Hubert roused himself with fists raised as if to take out whatever was terrorizing his wife, even though they both knew he was better at verbally destroying someone than punching.

Mercedes had a hand on her chest as she took a few deep breaths, “Bloody Seiros,” she whispered. She very rarely took the Saint’s name in vain. That got Hubert’s full attention. “I just had the most awful nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Hubert as he let her settle against him. He gave her shoulder a reassuring rub.

“I just, oh, it was so strange and vivid,” whispered Mercedes as she rested her face against his chest. “I don’t know if I can even bring myself to talk about it.”

“I promise not to mock you too much,” teased Hubert as he shut his eyes. Comfort and condolences had never been his strong suit.

Mercedes shivered in his arms, “Well, I dreamt that you and poor Bernadetta were, well, you were running through the woods being pursued by a demonic beast! It eventually chased you both down, and well, did what a demonic beast does.”

“Oh,” said Hubert as he wished his wife wasn’t dreaming about him and their soon to be sister-in-law meeting their demise. He didn’t put any stock into dream symbolism, and ranked it up there with horoscopes and hypnotism, but he’d prefer her to not imagine him being ripped apart.

“It was awful,” whispered Mercedes. “I think you were trying to save Bernadetta from the monster, but got caught instead.”

“And where were you?”

“I,” Mercedes paused uncertainly. “I suppose I was just watching. I don’t know where I was, removed from it all I suppose.”

“Good thing demonic beasts aren’t real,” yawned Hubert as the two got back to sleep.

***

The dining table could easily seat thirty but Hrym House was only hosting eight guests at the moment. The three von Varleys, the two von Vestras, one Dr. Hanneman von Essar of Enbarr with whom Hubert was already acquainted, and two young women from the territory across the river.

“Lysithea von Ordelia,” said the more curious looking young woman as she introduced herself. Hubert didn’t want to stare but the woman had white hair even though she could barely be more than twenty. It was unnatural. Her eyes were large and pale red, and Hubert decided she must be an albino.

The other woman stuttered as she introduced herself, “M-Marianne.”

“Marianne von Edmund,” supplied Lysithea with a careful stare at the pale blue headed woman who managed to look even more depressed to be there than quiet Bernadetta. Lysithea turned her pale eyed gaze to Mercedes, “I am so pleased to finally meet Emile’s long-lost sister.”

“I wasn’t lost, I was just in Fhirdiad,” said Mercedes pleasantly as she spread apricot jam upon a muffin. Hubert stuck with the very bitter coffee and some unexciting oatmeal.

Lysithea continued to stare at Mercedes, “Yes, I hear you were raised in the church, and that you’re very knowledgeable on the teachings of Seiros.”

Marianne managed to look up long enough to give Mercedes a hopeful look. Mercedes smiled and nodded, “Indeed, I almost became a nun—”

Lysithea laughed at that, and not kindly. Hubert found himself bristling at the mocking sound. “How unbelievable that Emile of all people would have a sister that nearly dedicated her life to the goddess.”

“Why is that unbelievable?” started Mercedes with confusion. Bernadetta’s parents exchanged a quick look but did not speak. Bernadetta stared at her plate and did not eat.

Emile entered the room looking unamused. Lysithea’s laughter died down at their host’s arrival, and she smiled at Mercedes, “I so look forward to getting to know you better Mrs. von Vestra.”

Emile managed to look even more intimidating in the daylight than he had last night. His long hair was neatly pulled back with two deliberate strands hanging loose in the front to frame his face. He didn’t scowl per say, but one could not call what he wore even a semblance of a smile.

A dark hungry look crossed Lysithea’s face as she surveyed Emile sitting beside Bernadetta. Hubert did not like her facial expression one bit. As if she felt him studying her, Lysithea shifted her attention to Hubert, “The von Vestras are a family known for their obloquy, are they not?”

Hubert quickly wiped his mouth with a napkin wondering how to possibly respond, but Hanneman jumped in to speak before him, “I am good friends with the Marquis von Vestra. I promise that the family’s reputation is overblown, they are an honorable sort.”

Hubert didn’t quite agree with Hanneman’s assessments of his father, who had served as lead Council to the aged Emperor until the Insurrection. Now most of the von Vestras' clientele were nobles of varying degrees of guilt. They would represent anyone for the right price, so of course they were a little off putting, but best not to air out his family’s dirty laundry in front of strangers. They did the sort of shady things one might expect, but they always stayed well within the law, or at least knew all the loopholes and technicalities they could exploit. Hubert was trying to be better than his family, but, even he took an unsavory case from time to time to make ends meet. It was a bloody path, but someone had to walk it.

“Dr. von Essar, I did not think to see you at this wedding,” said Hubert. He was pleased that there was at least someone familiar whom he liked here other than Mercedes. Hanneman was an academic interested in lost civilizations and ancient symbols, and always buried in his books. Hubert hadn’t seen him in a number of years, Hanneman was always racing off to some new archaeological site or famous library, but he looked much the same as Hubert recalled from his childhood. The professor was a tall thin man with graying hair, styled sharply into a goatee, and he had an impeccable sense of old money fashion manifesting in his monocle and dramatic coat. Despite his advancing age, he was still considered a very eligible bachelor in the Enbarr noble scene but he had never married, instead he was in a committed relationship with his research.

“Oh Hubert my boy, I didn’t think to be here! I am afraid I am imposing upon this family event. I had sent a request to come visit to use the Hrym archives and Mr. von Bartels was too kind to turn this old man away,” explained Hanneman jovially. “I’m helping to turn his promising footman into a proper archivist in exchange for access to the collections.”

“Collections?” Hubert had little care for the world outside of Enbarr, and he was woefully uniformed about what was possibly of interest in this little remote region at the edge of the Empire. Further, ancient history was just that, history. Hubert preferred to look towards the future.

Lysithea smiled broadly, “The Hrym Archives house the Codices of the Ten Elites.”

Hanneman scoffed in a friendly way, “Perhaps. Perhaps not, it’s a huge collection and no one’s looked at it in many decades. The Hryms were always very secretive, but now that the old guard is gone, perhaps we may learn yet if those texts are real.”

“The Codices of the Ten Elites?” asked Mercedes uncertainly.

Hanneman chuckled, “Ah yes, I suppose a saintly young lady like yourself would not have come across mention of something so dark. It is said to be the forbidden gospels of the Agarthans.”

Hubert smirked at his wife, “Did they not cover boogeymen like the Agarthans in the convent?”

“You should not be so flippant Mr. von Vestra,” warned Lysithea. Her glare was sharp and serious and made Hubert’s blood run cold.

“Enough talk of Agarthans,” ordered Emile from down the table with a hard stare at his guests.

“Speak of the beast and it will come,” muttered Marianne like a prayer under her breath. She made the sign of the goddess across her chest and closed her eyes. Lysithea scoffed at her with a soft laugh.

Hubert hoped that as soon as the damned wedding was done these people would clear out. Vacation with his brother-in-law was already dreadful enough, he didn’t need to add this overly intense Ordelia woman into the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarot cards can have a lot of interpretations and I'm not going to pretend to be an expert, so I'll give a brief descriptor/interpretation of each card as it relates to the chapter.


	3. The Magician, Reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Magician stands with their tools before them, a cup, a sword, a wand, and a pentacle. All their pieces are falling into place, with goals on the cusp of manifesting. When reversed, the Magician may signify manipulation.

Mr. von Varley drug his fearful daughter down the aisle to her waiting groom. Hubert found that he was clutching Mercedes’ hand as they watched the pitiful excuse for a ceremony. He had a sinking feeling in his gut as he listened to Bernadetta repeating the prescribed words. There was no asking for objections, but if there had been Hubert felt like he might have started shouting. He did not know these people, and perhaps he was overreacting, but all of this just felt so wrong. Beside him small Lysithea leaned in with glee, “She looks terrified.”

What a thing to say at a wedding, but poor Bernadetta did in fact look like she might faint at any moment. Her fingers trembled as Emile slipped a ring upon the fourth digit of her left hand. She managed to hold herself together long enough to see the ceremony through. The priest, an old man named Tomas, declared the two married in the eyes of the goddess. He then led Bernadetta and Emile, along with Mercedes and Bernadetta’s parents to act as witnesses, into the back of the church to finish signing all the paperwork.

Hanneman was chatting with Linhardt, who was tasked with driving the couple back up in the carriage which had been decorated with flowers and a banner of congratulations. The accoutrements did little to make it look less damned. Marianne was kneeling at a statue of the goddess and looked like she was engaged in a fervent private prayer. Hubert contented himself to walking around and studying the place rather than interrupting. The Hyrm chapel was quite unlike any church Hubert had seen before. He stared at the stained glass and racked his brain for what episode of Seironic history was possibly being displayed. He wished Mercedes would hurry up and get back so that she could tell him the story behind the gory scene on display in the windows. It looked like a massacre and made plentiful use of crimson glass.

Lysithea noted his confusion, “It’s the Red Canyon.”

“Oh, right,” murmured Hubert. The Red Canyon, or Zanado, the place where Nemesis murdered Sothis and made her draconic body into a weapon, or something to that effect. It was not exactly a popular depiction in art since it was one of the worst episodes on the Church’s history. Yet here it was in stunning detail. If Hubert didn’t know any better, it almost looked like Nemesis was the hero of the scene, not the antagonist.

Lysithea smirked, “You don’t believe.” She glanced around and leaned in, “Neither do I.”

“Am I that obvious?” asked Hubert as he looked down at the small white-haired woman.

“Yes,” said Lysithea without elaboration. She ran a hand along the dark wood that made up the pews and looked at him with an appraising eye, “Interesting that you would be married to such a devout woman.”

“It was an arranged marriage,” admitted Hubert. His father had picked Mercedes because she was from an old Adrestian family, but grew up in the Kingdom and had made some connections with the nobility there through the Church and her step-father. To Hubert’s family, she was a potential gateway to extending the von Vestra’s influences into Faerghus. To Hubert, she was the one and only person he’d ever felt romantically invested in.

Hubert didn’t know much about Mercedes when they got engaged other than her name and the address for her dorm room at the Women’s College she attended in Fhirdiad. His parents wanted her to be well educated, and therefore paid for her tuition and picked all her classes. Hubert was accustomed to that level of control over his life, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she resented him for it. He resigned himself to the certainty that she would hate him.

Lady Edelgard, never one to accept defeat, had all but ordered him to send Mercedes some letters to get to know her. So he had written her like clockwork every fortnight for the four years of their engagement. Admittedly he had no idea what to write about since his life was mostly studying and he had few friends. He was also never one for big flowery declarations or romantic confessions, and without knowing her he had no honest words like those to give. Yet he did desire to know her since he was expected to spend his life with her, and he hoped that came across in his stiff words.

For years he kept up his letters loyally, but grew to expect little in return. Mercedes would maybe send a response every couple months. Her words were always polite, but generally brief and disinterested. However as they got closer to the big day, her responses became more frequent. Her letters grew longer, warmer and more optimistic. He could still recall the unusual fluttering feeling he’d experienced when reading that first happy letter after so many apathetic ones. Apparently she’d had a falling out with a close friend that had sent her reeling, but his letters became the one thing she knew she could count upon.

“I think we make a good match," he said with a soft smile. 

“Do you?” teased Lysithea. “You seem to be opposites.”

“Opposites attract,” suggested Hubert.

“But similars stay together,” said Lysithea knowingly. She was strange and Hubert wanted to quip that’s why she was here alone, but he held his tongue. He was a great lawyer because he was so argumentative, but he was downright awful at simple discourse with strangers.

They moved together to the next horrific looking stained-glass window. Lysithea continued to probe, “If not Seiros, what do you follow?”

“Nothing,” said Hubert. He paused, that was not entirely true, “I believe in people, good leaders, bright futures, and all that.” He believed in Lady Edelgard’s visions for her family’s empire and could not wait for her to ascend her frail father’s throne.

“That’s very secular of you Mr. von Vestra,” said Lysithea playfully as she straightened the strange black veil on her head. She was dressed like someone attending a funeral, but not out of sadness and instead out of revenge. Her form fitting dress was a very dark red and glittered with shiny black beads. If anything she looked an inversion of a bride in the fancy getup.

“And you?” asked Hubert.

“I dabble in the dark arts,” said Lysithea with a coy smile.

Surely, she was not serious. “So you’re a witch,” joked Hubert.

“Yes,” said Lysithea quite simply as if the joke was on him and not her. “In a manner of speaking, I am.”

“Right,” said Hubert as he wished that Mercedes was back to save him from this odd conversation. “And what brand of witchcraft do you engage in?”

“Dark magic,” said Lysithea in all seriousness. Hubert wondered if he just stopped talking if she would go away. Lysithea seemed to sense his thoughts, “It is off-putting I know, but Emile invited me to Hrym House because of my abilities.”

Good goddess, what a strange person. “Dark magic,” repeated Hubert. “I think I wished to be a dark bishop when I was a boy.” Too many nights spent reading fantasy stories after he was supposed to have gone to bed had left him romanced with ideas of magic as a child.

“No, you did not, you wished to be a Pegasus rider,” she chided.

_How the hell does she know that_ , he wondered. That was a desire he never, ever spoke aloud. A lucky guess, a joke. Men were not Pegasus riders. Especially not men deathly afraid of heights.

Lysithea continued to regard him, “You could probably learn some spells. Though, I would not bother with faith based ones if I were you.”

“Well you’ll have to show me some magic then,” said Hubert with a smirk.

“Gladly,” smiled Lysithea as she gave him a mocking bow. “I plan to do some tarot card readings this evening at the reception, perhaps you might come get one done.”

“Sure,” said Hubert dryly. Tarot cards, seriously? He thought the religious stuff with the von Varley’s was bad, now he was going to have to put up with strange occult nonsense to balance it all out.

“Oh you don’t believe in divination?” she teased. She took his hand and without permission took off his glove to stare at his palm. Hubert stared in disbelief at the boldness of the gesture. Her eyes danced over the lines of his hand and then she smiled at him. “Congratulations, by the way,” said Lysithea, her smile somehow stretching wider. It was unnatural and false and made Hubert’s stomach twist like when he was watching Bernadetta tremble at the alter.

Dare he ask? “Congratulations on what?”

“The baby, of course,” said Lysithea as if he ought to know.

Before he could demand what she meant, Emile and Bernadetta emerged from the back room, both looking miserable. Hubert squinted at his wife, and found she looked perfectly normal and no different than usual. Lysithea let go of his hand and gave him back his glove and skittered away before he could ask for a proper explanation.

The small wedding party embarked back on the walk to Hrym House behind the wedding carriage. Hubert wrapped an arm behind Mercedes’ waist, “How are you feeling?”

“Good?” asked Mercedes as if he were being strange. “Why, how should I feel?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Hubert. He was feeling suspicious of these people that surrounded them. He did not like Ms. von Ordelia and her supernatural air, he did not like the von Varleys and the way they had just unloaded their terrified daughter onto a stranger, and he did not like his brother-in-law and the way he had referred to his sister as ‘my Mercedes’. “How do you feel about tarot cards?”

“Oh Hubert, I didn’t take you for the type to entertain such frivolity, why?” laughed Mercedes.

“Ms. von Ordelia plans to do some readings later, perhaps we should get one done together,” suggested Hubert as he playfully pulled Mercedes against him.

She giggled, “I thought you were too serious for such things.”

“Perhaps a silly girl is finally rubbing off on me,” suggested Hubert fondly as he let her waist go and held her hand instead. She scoffed at his pet name for her. Yet despite his pleasure at his wife’s smile, von Ordelia’s words kept running through his head. Her words were congratulatory, but her tone had felt like a warning.

***

The wedding feast was prepared by the Hrym House chef, a silent man from Duscar who made simply the most marvelous dinner. He was a massive man with scars upon his face, and Hubert greatly wondered what the story was behind them. The chef looked like he’d seen battle, but Duscar hadn’t been to war in decades, not since that awful massacre that had occurred on those lands. These days they were an annexed territory of the kingdom, and a subjugated people without enough power to fight for independence.

Hubert could see Linhardt and the chef signing to each other. At one point the chef made a series of signs at Lysithea and shook his head with a disapproving expression. Linhardt laughed and signed back his response. Hubert was glad to see he wasn’t the only one put off by the witch, even if he couldn’t take part in the conversation.

The von Varleys got ready to leave immediately following dinner. “Good luck, make our family proud,” said Bernadetta’s mother as she kissed her daughter on each cheek.

“You’re leaving already?” asked Bernadetta in disbelief.

“Yes! We’re catching the last train out of Hrym tonight, we must be off,” said her father as he tapped his watch.

“Oh, I thought perhaps you’d stay for a few days,” said Bernadetta. Her voice wavered with fear.

Her father held up his copy of the marriage contract, “What we’ve come to do is done, why would we stay any longer?”

Bernadetta’s lip trembled. Mercedes put an arm around her and forced a smile at the von Varleys, “Safe travels then, farewell.” Hubert knew that voice, that was his wife politely declaring ‘good riddance’. He had to agree, that pair was an awful sort and he would not miss them at all.

The reception moved to the parlor where there was champagne waiting. There was a toast to the couple that felt hollow, and a phonograph was wheeled out to provide some music. It was more dirge than celebration.

Lysithea let out a pleased sigh as she took a seat at a round card table. A velvet cloth the color of the night sky had been spread out upon it. She pulled up a thick deck of cards. “Dr. von Essar, would you care for a reading?”

“Fascinating,” laughed Hanneman as he took a look at the cards. “But I’m afraid I do not partake in such things.”

“We all have our quirks,” smiled Lysithea. “Marianne? Might I tempt you?”

“Maybe later,” whispered Marianne as she eyed the deck unfavorably.

“How about you Mrs. von Bartels?” Lysithea’s pale eyed gaze was fixed on Bernadetta.

“I-I suppose,” whispered Bernadetta as she took a seat. She looked as if it were the last thing in the world that she wanted.

Lysithea made a cooing noise, “You have nothing to fear. The cards merely give us a story to help us understand the world. They help clear up uncertainty.” She paused and grinned at Bernadetta, “Is there anything you’re uncertain about?”

Bernadetta was breathing quickly as she looked at the deck on the table. “Um, I, uh—”

Lysithea gave a measured glance around at the present company, “I understand you might not want to ask it out loud with all these people around. I’ll tell you what, hold your question in your heart and think about it as I shuffle, and most importantly, focus on it when you cut the deck.” Lysithea shuffled expertly while staring at Bernadetta. The trembling bride’s lips were moving as if she were silently speaking her question. Bernadetta cut the deck and Lysithea dealt out nine cards in a three by three grid. She flipped them carefully and stared.

“The first row, that is your past, the second, is your present, and third is the direction of your future,” explained Lysithea as she studied the spread. “For your past, here we have a queen of pentacles, the quiet woman, followed by an inverted nine of wands, suggesting worry, and the moon here, anxiety. I do not wish to pry but I get the sense you have not had a happy past Mrs. von Bartels.”

Bernadetta trembled as she reached out to touch the queen of pentacles. She said nothing. Lysithea arched an eyebrow and continued to the middle row that spoke for the present. “Here you have a four of wands, often a card of marriage, which we saw reach completion this afternoon. The ten of cups suggests there is placation in a way, finished off with the reversed two of swords. It appears you marriage has satisfied someone, I suspect your parents, though they are indifferent to your feelings on the matter.” Bernadetta nodded and dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief Hubert had lent her in the carriage ride. He supposed it was ‘something borrowed’ and she was ‘something blue’. He would not ask her for it back, because he suspected she needed it more than he ever would.

“But your future, your future is bright,” said Lysithea reassuringly. “See here, you have an inverted three of cups, suggesting sensuality.” She smirked in Emile’s direction and then back at Bernadetta, “A two of pentacles, a card of rewards, and here, the lovers, happiness. So if I were to wager, it looks like you should follow your heart, even if your mind is uncertain that what you want is right, because if you follow your heart you’ll find happiness, no matter what.” The words themselves were comforting, but Lysithea's delivery rang false.

Bernadetta dried her eyes, “Thank you Ms. von Ordelia, that was very unexpected, and hopeful.” She stole a glance at Emile and then back at the cards and took a deep breath before rising from the chair.

Lysithea picked up the cards and began to shuffle again, “Who is my next victim? Mrs. von Vestra, do you care to indulge?”

Mercedes giggled as she took the seat across from the witch. Lysithea grinned, “This isn’t the first time you’ve been read.”

“No,” said Mercedes. “My college roommate was obsessed with them for a spell. Of course none of what she said came true.”

Lysithea smirked, “Well it takes years of practice to get any good at this. Do you have a specific question for the cards?”

“Sure, what does my summer in Hrym hold for me?” asked Mercedes. She cut the deck when it was presented and Lysithea laid out five cards in the shape of an cross.

“The vertical spread of cards help to express your question, and horizontal helps to answer,” explained Lysithea as she looked the cards over. “Here we have a knave of cups, a loving girl I think is you, the priestess, a card of revelation, and oh, strange, an reversed seven of wands, ignorance. Hmm, well, it appears you may think you’re asking one thing but there might be more you’re unaware of, or perhaps something you’re hiding? Curious.”

“Alright,” said Mercedes, clearly underwhelmed by the reading.

Lysithea pursed her lips, “And as for the next row, we have the knave of swords, a stern and practical youth, again the priestess in the center, and oh my, an inverted one of swords, disaster I’m afraid. So if I look at this full spread, I see you seeking answers and finding some but perhaps not all. This knave here, perhaps someone in this very room, may reveal something to you, perhaps the very thing you are searching for closer on. Or maybe he discovers something you’ve kept a secret. Either way, this will end in disaster, but it is not clear to me for whom. It could be that whatever the knave discovers leads to your undoing, or, perhaps their own. I apologize this spread is a bit muddled, there seems to be much kept secret in your life that is wanting to be shared.”

“Oh,” said Mercedes with a grim glance at the cards. She recovered and smiled, “Well good thing I do not believe in tarot cards.”

Lysithea chuckled, “That’s one way to reconcile a poor draw.” Her eyes scanned the room and landed upon Hubert, “How about you Mr. von Vestra?” She held up the knave of swords and winked at him before adding it back to the deck.

“I’ve never had this done before,” said Hubert as he took the seat. “I do not have a specific question. Maybe I ought to do the past present future type reading you offered Ms. von Varley,” he paused realizing his mistake, “I’m sorry, Mrs. von Bartels.”

“Of course,” said Lysithea as she shuffled. He cut the cards carefully and braced himself for nonsense. She looked over the cards with keen interest, “Your past, this reversed knight of cups, suggests you were quite crafty as a boy, and here reversed temperance, a separation, followed yet another reversed card, judgment. I get the sense that you lost someone dear to you when you were young, and that in your scheming attempts to get them back you were punished quite severely.”

Hubert looked at the cards and could feel the attention of the room suddenly upon him. He straightened in his chair, “During the Insurrection my best friend, Lady Edelgard, was taken up to Fhirdiad for her safety. I decided I would go after her with dreams of rescuing her. I was caught of course and my father disciplined me in kind. I know now that her being taken from Enbarr saved her life, given how her siblings were executed, but it is still an unpleasant memory.”

“You never mentioned that,” murmured Mercedes behind him.

Hubert shrugged, “I do not like to be reminded of it.” He paused and laughed sarcastically, “Next time we have dinner with my parents, get them to tell the story from their point of view. It’s always a good laugh.” A good bitter tasting laugh.

Lysithea nodded, “You sound very loyal. Here in the present there is the wheel of fortune, your destiny, and the Emperor, representing leadership, with the star, a very optimistic card. I get the sense things are coming to fruition and you’re hopeful, maybe for the first time in your life.”

Hubert looked at the Emperor card and though of Lady Edelgard and her coming coronation. He glanced back at Mercedes and thought about the future that lay ahead of them, “I suppose things are finally falling into place in my life.”

Lysithea grinned but her smile did not reassure him, “And your future,” she gestured at the cards. Hubert swallowed uneasily because the first one was literally depicting a menacing demonic beast, “This is a card of passion and physical needs you are powerless to control. It is followed by the king of swords, suggesting you may take an action without fully considering the consequences. The last card, the reversed ten of cups, suggests a reawakening of happiness. I suspected you will encounter something challenging soon, but trust your gut as it were, and even if your solution seems extreme it may end up repairing things in the end.”

“Alright,” said Hubert as he stared at the cards in confusion.

Lysithea laughed and picked the cards up to shuffle them, “It’s not a science Mr. von Vestra, it’s a parlor trick. Don’t lose any sleep over it.” She drew herself three cards: a three of cups, which depicted three young women dancing together, the Empress, and the Wheel of Fortune. Lysithea said nothing as she traced her finger over the three dancing figures and took a deep breath as her finger trailed over the Empress. She swallowed and returned the cards to the deck and packed them away without comment.

***

The party was winding down when Lysithea climbed the stairs to stand with the master of the house. She had good news for him, not that it would make him smile. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Do not mock me witch,” whispered Emile, though from his tone she suspected she was speaking to the other side of him.

“Patience Jeritza. These plans take time,” whispered Lysithea as they looked down at their unsuspecting guests from the top of the staircase. “You will have your precious sister back, soon enough, and I will have my new body.” She smiled at him, “Besides, I believe I have identified a solution to the part you’re most reluctant about.”

Jeritza looked down at her with an unwavering frown, “Oh?”

“Yes, your brother-in-law is not quite as useless as I originally thought,” laughed Lysithea as she stared down to where Hubert and Mercedes were chatting with Hanneman. “I’ll simply use Mr. von Vestra as a replacement for your part in the spell, so don’t harm him quite yet. I’ll let you know when he’s served his role.”

“Very well,” said Jeritza as his lip curled up. She knew he did not like the waiting part but that was too bad. The spell she was working was highly complex, and so many things had to fall into place at just the right time. Making a body took patience and lifeblood, she couldn’t rush it.

“I trust you will cooperate with this change?” asked Lysithea. She had learned the hard way that to get Jeritza to obey, one had to be very specific with their requests or he’d find a way to make a bloody mess of things. She had him under control at the moment, but it was a constant battle of wills.

“As long as what your planning does not bring harm to Mercedes,” whispered Jeritza, or perhaps that was Emile breaking through to speak. It was difficult to tell sometimes.

Lysithea sighed and smiled, “Of course, I’m wouldn’t dream of it. Rest assured, she’ll enjoy her part in what’s to come.” Goddess help her if anything remotely bad happened to Mercedes, then Lysithea would be grabbing Marianne and crossing the river while learning to pray.

“How long must I wait? When will you act?” his fingers were curling around the banister as if they were ready to wrap around a throat.

Lysithea did not have an exact answer. “I saw what’s coming in the cards.”

Jeritza scoffed, “Those stupid cards mean nothing—”

“Don’t be so sure. I’ll tell you what, we’ll have ourselves a little agreement. If you must, you can go ahead and kill von Vestra as spectacularly as you wish. Paint him all over the house for all I care, but then _you_ must perform the rite as originally planned. However, if things go as the cards suggest, then he can perform the rite, and you can kill him afterward anyway. How does that sound?”

“Messy,” smiled Jeritza as he stared down at Hubert.

“Good goddess, keep it in your pants,” scoffed Lysithea. Nothing got Jeritza off like thinking about killing. “Now, go tend to your wife, she’s been locked up in the attic all day with only Shamir for company. I’ll make an excuse for your absence.”

Jeritza nodded almost looking grateful for the order. Lysithea smoothed out her fancy dress and wondered what Bernadetta would think as she spent all night waiting for a groom that would never call upon her. She’d feel rejected and vulnerable; _perfect_ , it was just how Lysithea would get in to gain her trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the Devil card the Demonic Beast card because that would seem to fit the lore better


	4. The High Priestess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The high priestess guards the boundary of consciousness and subconsciousness. She represents mystery and secrets, and the power of intuition.

Mercedes was in a good mood as she came down for breakfast. “Good morning Dedue,” she said to the mute chef. Emile had given her his sign language book so that she too could communicate with the Duscarian chef. Dedue could hear just fine but he could not speak. He signed back to her and Mercedes flipped through the picture book of signs. Dedue smiled and shook his head as he opened the correct pages. He signed slowly for her, _Good morning to you too_.

Mercedes felt a little silly about how hard she was finding this. “Dedue, I am determined to become good at this by the end of the summer. Maybe by then we can have a real conversation.”

Dedue smiled and nodded and then responded, _I look forward to it_. He moved his hands slowly so she could identify each thing he was trying to say.

“Thank you for your patience,” said Mercedes as she blushed and then got about getting her breakfast from the buffet. It was a little late in the morning and no one was in the dining room. Mercedes knew Hubert was walking to the nearest town to check for mail or telegrams they both knew would not be waiting, yet he dutifully did the long walk every other day just in case Lady Edelgard was ordering him home to Enbarr (she was not, she was also on vacation). Mercedes was trying to goad him into picking up a hobby to pass the time, but she figured him walking several miles a day was a healthy enough use of time.

Mercedes was hoping to spend more time with Emile, but he was proving elusive. He spent his mornings at his training grounds, and his afternoons checking in on his tenants or other matters concerning his land. At night, he retired early. She had finally just scheduled herself a tea time for today which he had thankfully agreed to. She wasn’t sure what to think; he seemed pleased to have her visiting while simultaneously going out of his way to avoid her.

Bernadetta was eating her breakfast alone on the deck enjoying the morning sun. Mercedes was trying hard to be like a sister to Bernadetta like she had offered. As a result the poor girl was clinging to her for any advice on how to get through an arranged marriage. She had even opened up to Mercedes that Emile had not even slept in the same bed on their wedding night. They had their own rooms, which was normal enough in such a big estate, but apparently Emile didn’t bother with Bernadetta at all. However maybe that had changed!

Mercedes felt badly for spooking Bernadetta with her sudden appearance, “How was last night?” Maybe they had finally been intimate. 

Bernadetta looked ashamed as she pushed her food around her plate. She had been married for two whole weeks now but apparently Emile had yet to consummate things. Bernadetta just shook her head, and Mercedes tried to put on an encouraging face, “He’ll come around!”

“Maybe,” muttered Bernadetta into her oatmeal. “I think he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” insisted Mercedes. “Maybe he’s just worried about rushing things, you did only just meet.”

“How long did it take you and Hubert to, um,” Bernadetta’s shy voice trailed off at the intimate nature of the question.

Mercedes blushed and took a bite of her eggs to give herself time to consider her answer. In truth, she and Hubert had not waited long at all. They had been nervous around each other, but eager. “We got to it right away,” admitted Mercedes as she thought back to Hubert kissing her for the first time — closed mouthed and uncertain — as they hesitantly removed their clothes only a few hours after their wedding ceremony.

Truth be told Mercedes had been far more interested in having sex than was considered appropriate for a woman of her station and religious devotion. She wanted the intimacy, and she wanted a child. However this morning had brought her the unwelcome appearance of her period, much to her disappointment. Hubert hadn’t been as bothered by the sight of it as she would have hoped. If she didn’t know any better she’d almost think he looked relieved. She knew he wanted children too, but he lacked the same urgency that she felt about getting pregnant.

“It’s always so nice and easy in the stories,” said Bernadetta as she looked out at the woods that extended around the property.

“What is?”

“Falling in love,” muttered Bernadetta.

“Well, the stories end immediately following falling in love with a happily ever after,” sighed Mercedes as she contemplated love that hadn’t worked out. “Sometimes it’s not so easy, you can fall in love but that doesn’t make it permanent.” She gave Bernadetta’s hand a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

For her part, Mercedes loathed a fluffy simple romance story these days, and much preferred dark books about love gone wrong or salacious forbidden sorts of couplings. She was currently reading about the history of Imperial consorts, and all the drama that had been stirred up in those storied harems. There were anecdotes about jealous concubines smothering the babies of others that were receiving the Emperor’s affections, of poisonings, assassinations, even seducing each other to get ahead in court. It was horrifying, mostly because it was true. Mercedes was devouring that book.

Bernadetta stared at her. Mercedes got nervous that perhaps she had said too much. “I’ll tell you what, how about I talk to Emile about it? He and I are catching up over tea today, let me ask how he’s feeling. You know it might have nothing to do with you at all!”

“But what if it does, what do I do then?” asked Berandetta with the quiet resignation of someone who had accepted their fate.

Mercedes put on a brave face, “Well then we figure it out together.”

Hubert waved from the forest trail, with a newspaper under one arm. Mercedes waved genially back and called out, “Any news from Enbarr?”

“Yes actually,” said Hubert as he ascended the stairs to join them up on the deck. “Ferdinand sent me a rather long update on his dating life.”

“Oh dear,” laughed Mercedes. She could clearly picture what Hubert must have looked like while scowling at that sort of message.

“Ferdinand, Ferdinand von Aegir?” asked Bernadetta weakly.

“Yes, are you acquainted?” asked Hubert as he took a seat next to Mercedes.

“Um, in a fashion,” murmured Bernadetta. “We were supposed to be arranged, but he broke things off to court a commoner. My father was scandalized.”

“Oh,” managed Hubert and Mercedes in unison as they exchanged glances.

Mercedes very much liked Dorothea; she was fabulous and fun, but Mercedes felt an immediate sympathy for Bernadetta’s position. Bernadetta stared at her plate before taking a deep breath and forcing a smile, “But now I am here.” She looked like she might cry as she excused herself.

“I think I am cursed to send that girl running,” muttered Hubert as they watched her go inside. He signed and opened his paper, “That forested path is quite nice by the way, maybe we should go to town together sometime.”

Mercedes hated exercise, and a four mile round trip did not seem very enticing. “You’re just going down there for the juicy gossip, be honest.”

“Of course,” smirked Hubert. He was a man for having his nose in everyone’s business. “The politics here aren’t quite as exciting as Enbarr but I learned today there is a red headed mercenary with an outstanding bar tab at the pub.”

“Oh, riveting,” laughed Mercedes.

“Alas the local gossip is largely trite, but the ghost stories, now those I think you would like,” promised Hubert in a spooky tenor.

Now Mercedes was interested. “Please, do tell.” She couldn’t resist local legends, especially the scary ones.

“The well at the center of town is said to be haunted by the apparition a young boy whose own brother pushed him down in a fit of jealousy. He hit his head and drown, but they didn’t find him until his corpse fouled up the water,” said Hubert with a somber grim air that gave way to a smirk. “Apparently he’s a bit of a prankster, he likes to tug the rope down when a particularly buxom young lady is at the well. Allegedly if you flash your tits, he releases the rope and sometimes even echos up a compliment.”

“Oh my,” laughed Mercedes. “Did you show him yours?”

Hubert chuckled, “I refrained. Being a ghost sounds torture enough, he doesn’t need to see my pale chest on top of being stuck in a well.”

Mercedes tried not to giggle even though she had come to like that bony stretch of Hubert. “What other ghosts stories have you heard?” She offered him a jam covered piece of toast.

“Well the next one isn’t a ghost tale, but more of a suspicious disappearance,” said Hubert between bites. “About six years back a wandering faith healer came to town. She had very distinctive teal hair and her father was a well known mercenary. They were quite well liked, but her father died in an accident and she ended up staying in town for a while. It was supposedly a good year for the territory — no sicknesses, crops yielded extra, plentiful fishing — and she was considered something like a saint. The local church didn’t like her of course, they called her a heretic, but your brother gave her safe haven in his home. Not long after Lysithea and Marianne showed up, apparently looking for healing for their own unknown ailments.”

“Oh really?” asked Mercedes. She supposed that both women looked a little unwell. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows,” said Hubert. “She’d regularly come down to the village, all smiles and the picture of good health. It was said she’d fallen in love and planned to stay here, but then she suddenly stopped visiting the village, and no one has seen her in five years.”

“Strange,” muttered Mercedes as she added that story the long mental list of things to ask Emile about.

“Also, the woods are said to be haunted by demonic beasts and a grim reaper sort of thing,” said Hubert playfully as he picked his paper back up.

“The woods you’d like me to take a walk through are haunted,” clarified Mercedes with amusement. That did actually make her want to walk in them more than if they were just regular woods.

“Yes, I need your strong faith and charm to protect me from the ghouls,” chided Hubert.

“You are a ghoul,” she teased lovingly. He really could be sometimes, “They might mistake you for their king.”

“From the talk in the town, Emile is their king,” said Hubert off-handedly as he flipped the page in his paper.

Mercedes straightened up and frowned, “Do they really?” That seemed cruel to her.

Hubert shrugged, “I didn’t get to ask too many questions. When people learn I’m staying at Hrym House, that I’m related to Emile by marriage, well, it’s like someone blows out a candle in the conversation.”

Mercedes furrowed her brow, “He’s just very private.”

“Yes, and being secretive invites whispers,” warned Hubert knowingly. “Half of the rumors about my family are true, and the other half don’t even come close to how bad the truth really is.”

Mercedes thought of her tarot reading with a strange sense of foreboding. She had secrets, everyone did, but she worried hers were bigger than others. She worried that Emile held even more massive secrets behind his mask of coldness.

***

Lysithea sauntered into the greenhouse to check on her special plants. “Oh Bernadetta, I was not expecting to run into you in here,” smiled Lysithea as she touched a bud on one of her exotic flowers. They were tropical plants from Dagda and Brigid, and only did well in the safety of the glass walls of the greenhouse.

Bernadetta was clutching a sketchbook to her chest, “Oh, Ms. von Ordelia, I um, I enjoy drawing plants.”

Lysithea could see the appeal as she regarded the pitcher plants, “Well you are welcomed to my garden any time.”

“Your garden! I didn’t know, please—” Bernadetta stammered nervously.

“Emile has generously given me use of Hrym House’s resources,” explained Lysithea as she gestured around the room. “Dedue keeps his corner of Duscarian plants over there,” she pointed towards the chef’s herb garden, “But otherwise these are plants I have brought.”

“It’s a lovely collection,” said Bernadetta admirably as her eyes lingered on the carnivorous ones.

“I grow plants for various potions,” said Lysithea as she watched for a reaction.

“Potions? Um, like, _magic_ potions?” asked Bernadetta.

Lysithea nodded and motioned for Bernadetta to follow her to her workbench. Drying bundles hung within reach of the short witch, and many jars of things were stacked neatly on shelves, “Magic, medicine, sometimes the line between them is thin.” She reached for a nearby blue bottle, “This is medicine for Marianne, she suffers from awful spells of darkness. This helps her keep her spirits up.”

Bernadetta nodded sympathetically. Lysithea’s fingers glossed over a red bottle, “For Emile’s inner demons.”

“You make potions for Emile?” asked Bernadetta weakly.

Lysithea nodded, “He has nightmares, as I’m sure you’ve discovered while sleeping beside him—”

Bernadetta turned as crimson as the bottle as she looked away. Lysithea tried to keep her smug grin from showing, “Oh no my dear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

“He is distant,” whispered Bernadetta.

Lysithea reached out and tried to cup Bernadetta’s hands. It did not help that the witch’s hands were always as cold as ice, but she made her eyes as understanding as possible, “Perhaps I have a remedy for you.” She began to gather a innocent mix of dried chicory into a stone mortar. Lysithea murmured nonsense words beneath her breath as she worked the pestle to grind the mix into a fine powder. Most of her magic was just showmanship, and she rarely let anyone watch her doing the real thing. 

She carefully poured the resulting powder into a tiny bottle with some alcohol and gave it a good shake, “A tincture for your troubles.”

Bernadetta held the purple bottle with an apprehensive expression, “What does it do?”

“It’s a sort of love potion,” said Lysithea. There was no such thing but she doubted Bernadetta knew that. “Add a drop or two to some tea and give it to the object of your affection. Make sure to put in some honey if you’re worried about masking the taste, it’s slightly nutty and bitter. It will help to warm the recipient's heart to you, especially over a number of tea times.” Really just having tea with people tended to improve a relationship, with or without a harmless tincture. 

Bernadetta gulped. Lysithea pursed her lips, “You do wish for Emile to come to your bed, do you not?”

“Um, uh,” stammered Bernadetta nervously. It was plain in her eyes that Bernadetta merely wanted to be loved, and she was not picky about who might show her affection. _Pathetic_. 

Lysithea bit her lip and tried to contain herself, “Perhaps your husband is not the one you desire.” She let her voice trail off suggestively to see how Bernadetta would react.

Bernadetta looked up in a panic, “I don’t know what would give you an idea like that!”

Lysithea shrugged, “Mrs. von Bartels, it is not my place to judge. You are in an arranged marriage, and I have known Emile for years, so I know he is difficult to get close to. No one would blame you for being frustrated, or for having wandering eyes.”

“It’s not like that,” said Bernadetta in a rush. “I just, I desire friends here.”

“Not all love is romantic,” whispered Lysithea as she folded Bernadetta’s hand around the bottle. She looked up into the young woman’s gray eyes and maintained her stare, “Some love is familial or friendly, and I suspect you have not enjoyed much of either in your life.”

Bernadetta’s eyes began to tear up as she pocketed the bottle. Lysithea gave her a sympathetic shoulder squeeze, “Let us have tea together Mrs. von Bartels, and we shall invite Marianne! And how about Mr. von Vestra or Dr. von Essar if they are around? You are not alone here, I promise.”

“Thank you,” murmured Bernadetta. She paused and looked grateful, “Ms. von Ordelia, please call me Bernadetta.”

“Of course, but only if you will call me Lysithea,” smiled the witch. She linked arms with Bernadetta and led the way to the dining room.

***

As she awaited Emile’s arrival for afternoon tea, Mercedes was far more nervous than she wished to be. This was her brother, Mercedes kept reminding herself. This was little Emile who liked sorbet and ghost stories. Well, that had been Emile twenty years ago. What if he had changed more than she understood?

She had her tin of baked goods that she’d brought all the way from Enbarr. She’d set them out and they’d steadily gotten to be fewer and fewer as all the guests of Hrym House polished them off. She wondered if Emile had tried any, and if he enjoyed them at all.

He looked humorless as he joined her at the lovely gazebo. It was separated from the house by the outdoor gardens, where Dedue could be spied patiently planting. “I do so like your chef, I did not realize he was your gardener too.”

Emile glanced over and nodded, “He is a man of many talents.”

“So curious, a maid from Dagda, a chef from Duscar, how did they come to your service?” Mercedes couldn’t believe she was resorting to asking about his servants she was so nervous about conversation topics.

“Hrym House has a way of attracting certain _lost_ people,” said Emile vaguely. He sighed, “I arrived here thirteen years ago."

He would have been just shy of fourteen when all his family died. Mercedes recalled her own fear and uncertainty when fleeing the Bartels' home for the distant safety of Faerghus, “It must have been strange, losing everything familiar and coming here.”

“The Bartels were no great loss,” said Emile. He had not touched any of the food or tea.

Mercedes hesitantly served them some cookies, “You had half siblings though, surely they were not all bad.” Mercedes didn’t have fond memories of them but she was an interloper and completely unrelated. Emile at least shared their blood, and perhaps that made them ever so softer towards him.

“They were not you,” said Emile as he stared at the cookie like it was a foreign object. He looked up at Mercedes, “I’m sorry, it has been some time since I’ve tasted such a thing.” He awkwardly bit off a hunk of cookie and chewed with the same static expression. “It is good.”

“Oh, wonderful, that’s one from a recipe Mother and I used to make,” smiled Mercedes. She had purposefully buried those at the bottom of the tin so they wouldn’t disappear too quickly.

“I remember,” he said as he regarded the cookie. His eyes traced up slowly to Mercedes, “How is mother?”

“She’s well, you should write her a letter, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you,” said Mercedes with a smile as she reached out to cover Emile's hand. Emile stared at it and Mercedes bit at her lip, “You know, she’s always held deep regrets over leaving you behind. It still haunts her, and I know she never intended to leave you with _them_. It would mean a great deal to her to hear from you.”

“Mother had to take you,” said Emile somberly. “And if she had taken me, Father would have never stopped hunting us. He would have killed her if he caught her. He might have killed you too.”

“Yes,” agreed Mercedes softly. It was a possibility her mother feared for years, even when they shed their nobility and hid as commoners within the sanctuary of the remote convent in Faerghus. That fear never went away until the Bartels were dead. The whole family was killed in a fire…or killed before it was set to cover the massacre. There were many rumors of course, how did a house that big go up in flames with no survivors but one boy? The worst rumors suggested that the fire didn’t even get the whole house, and that slashed bodies were discovered in the intact rooms.

Mercedes shook away her dark intrusive thoughts, “When you arrived here, who cared for you? I was under the impression something befell the Hryms many years before you would have gotten here.”

“Yes, the all the von Hryms had died off by then, leaving behind only distant relations to raise me,” nodded Emile. He sipped his tea and stared at the house, “Cornelia and her husband Volkhard were cousins from the southernmost tip of the territory. They came and made sure I learned the family history and traditions so that these things would not die out.”

Mercedes nodded and wondered if Emile had any fond feelings towards his foster parents, “Were they kind to you?”

“They were no worse than the von Bartels,” said Emile vaguely. That was not a high bar to set. Mercedes remembered her childhood felt like walking on a cracking ice surface, and at any moment she risked falling into the punishing deadly cold. Her mother was her only protector, and while she was not very strong at least she was present. Emile must have suffered in the years he was abandoned.

Emile shifted around in his seat, “They did not have children of their own. At least they treated me like a man and did not sugar coat the truths of the world for me. I appreciated that. As for the staff, Linhardt and Dedue were both here for years before me, and Shamir showed up not long after me. I will not insult them by calling them my family, for they are very much servants, but they have each been stalwart friends when I have needed them.”

“Good, I’m glad you have found some good people to surround yourself with,” said Mercedes. The von Bartels had been anything but goodly, but did they deserve to die? Mercedes’ thoughts kept circling back to the rumors of the massacre, and she wondered how she could possibly ask Emile for the truth. It was a horrible, horrible thing to be accused of and she was deeply ashamed that a sliver of her believed those rumors. “Father was a, a vile man. I am ashamed that I shed no tears when I learned of his passing.”

“You should feel no shame over that,” said Emile. “I certainly did not, and he was my actual father.”

“He was my father too, I was born in his home,” protested Mercedes. Visions of Baron Bartels swirled in her mind; mostly she remembered his stare as it followed her wherever she went. She could vividly recall his voice in her ear telling her she owed him for the shelter he provided her, and that when she was finally ripe he would pluck her. Mercedes felt the bile creeping in her throat, “Just because I wasn’t his blood, he was all I knew for ten years—”

“And what a crime that was,” mused Emile darkly. “He deserved a worse death than he received.”

The sentiment sent a chill through her, and she couldn’t stand it any longer, “Did you kill him?” Emile merely nodded an affirmation in response. Mercedes set her teacup on its saucer for her hands were shaking too badly to continue to hold it, “Why?” There was a time when she wanted the Baron dead, but she just didn’t want to know that such a dark desire might have spurred her brother on to massacre three generations in a single bloody night when he was barely more than a boy.

“I killed him because I wanted to,” said Emile plainly.

She stared at him wishing it were not true. “Surely there’s more to it.”

Emile shook his head. “Are you afraid of me? Do you despise me for it?”

“No,” whispered Mercedes in shock. She believed he had to be was haunted by what he’d done. Further, what if someone someday decided to arrest him for it? He could easily be executed for this, and that would be justice served. “I didn’t bring this up to shame you for it, but, Emile, it’s a serious thing to murder all those people. You knew it was wrong to kill, and yet you did it, and I just can’t accept that it was merely out of a want to kill, surely there was a reason—”

Emile cut her off, “I do not wish to speak of killing. It _stirs_ something within me.” His visage had changed and darkened and it was as if she was now speaking to a completely different person.

Mercedes swallowed uneasily and paused to wonder what she might change the subject to. “Uh, h-how is married life?”

Emile stared at her with that same unreadable look. “I do not have any comments on that.”

Mercedes stared in disbelief, “You’ll admit to murder but won’t even hazard an opinion on your marriage?”

Emile finally did smile but said nothing. He had another cookie. Mercedes sighed as she wondered what she was going to tell Bernadetta “ _Well your husband is a confessed murderer, but don’t worry he doesn’t seem interested in you…_ ” She stared at her brother, “I heard you had a faith healer living here for a spell.”

Emile set down his teacup, “Where did you hear that?” His voice had gone from apathetic to angry.

“Oh, Hubert heard about it when he was in the village,” murmured Mercedes. Emile’s face was looking taut with rage and she wished she had not brought it up.

“You should tell your husband to mind his own business,” warned Emile, clearly put off. He looked at his watch with annoyance, “Thank you for tea, I must go.”

Mercedes sat in shock in the empty gazebo and found herself beginning to weep. She was startled minutes later as a kind strong hand rested upon her shoulder. She looked up and saw Dedue with a handful of big orange marigolds. He gave her a tight-lipped smile as she took the bouquet. “Thank you,” whispered Mercedes in shock. Dedue signed nothing, but nodded and then returned to his gardening.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a fog and used her period as an excuse to avoid dinner. She put the bight marigolds in a vase at her bedside and curled up with a hot water bottle and her book for company. She had no appetite as the ease of her brother’s admission of murder kept bubbling up in her mind.

Eventually Hubert retired to their room and broke her self-imposed isolation. Of course he brought up the teatime almost immediately after he had joined her in bed, “Did things go well? Are you all caught up with Emile?”

“Yes, he’s a man of few words, but I learned much,” said Mercedes vaguely as she turned the page. She was nearly finished her book on the bloody history of Imperial consorts. Suddenly it was not as entertaining when she knew that even greater horrors had been perpetrated by her own brother.

“Anything of note?” Hubert’s eyes flicked from his book to her.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” warned Mercedes, while she wished he would drop it. She hoped he would not nose his way any further into Emile’s business, and she feared what might happen if he did.

“And satisfaction brought him back,” returned Hubert as he leaned against her shoulder.

“And what did you do after we parted?” asked Mercedes curtly as she shifted the subject from her brother to Hubert’s afternoon.

“I was roped into a most bizarre tea time with the ladies of the house,” chuckled Hubert. “I find myself now on a first name basis with them whether I like it or not. I believe I have figured out how to be less frightening to Bernadetta. Lysithea continues to be the oddest person I’ve met in years, but she also plays chess, so we've arranged to have a match soon. As for Marianne, well, she barely spoke and I can’t say I have any idea what was going on inside her head.” He glanced at Mercedes with a tender yet sarcastic look, “Only what, sixty-five more days of summer?”

Mercedes laughed despite her poor mood, “Please don’t tell me that you have a calendar hidden away that you’re counting down with.”

“Then I won’t tell you where it is,” smirked Hubert as he shut his book and returned it to his nightstand. He settled into bed beside her, and looked up at her with a peaceful expression. “I love you,” he murmured before he rolled over and away from her lamp's light.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. It felt good to say it and mean it, and trust that he meant it back. She paused and grabbed her bookmark, and let the light go out. “Hubert, may I ask you a question about work?”

“I suppose, you know what I do is rather dull,” said Hubert as he turned back to face her. He often did not bring his work home with him, opting instead to spend longer hours at the office rather than bringing such depressing material into their house.

“What do you do when you know a client is guilty of something terrible?” Mercedes hoped her question was not too transparent. He mostly worked corruption cases but she read the papers and occasionally dropped by the courthouse to watch him in action. He had represented some truly disgusting people.

“You’re probably not going to like my answer,” warned Hubert. “But, I represent them because _someone_ will, and better it be me because it’s good to have leverage over powerful people.”

“But you don’t worry about them walking free in the world?”

The room was too dark to see his expression but she could hear his light scoff, “I’m most afraid of the people who know how to not get caught doing something terrible. The ones who go to court might get off in trial but their names are still splashed in the papers and the court of public opinion is rarely kind. No, it’s the people who quietly do things in the shadows and never get caught, those are the ones that I am most wary of.”

His words did little to ease her conscience over Emile’s easy admission of murder. Mercedes nodded and decided maybe instead of asking her lawyer husband for advice, she might go to a local priest instead.


	5. The Hermit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The old Hermit hangs his head and carries a staff and lantern to guide his path through the wasteland and mountains. He seeks to study sacred teachings, though his robe may conceal his true nature. This is a card of self-discovery and being alone.

Bernadetta ran her thumb over the embroidered flower she had added to Hubert’s handkerchief. He’d loaned it to her when she had felt so alone in the carriage ride to Hrym House. She had stained it so thoroughly with her tears that night, and then with the make-up that ran on the day of her wedding, that she could not give it back to him without covering up the marks.

He and Mercedes had been kind to her here. The irony left a bitter taste in her mouth that such a disagreeable arranged marriage had given her such a wonderful set of in-laws. They seemed to truly care for her in a way that Bernadetta had never felt before. They seemed worried that she wasn’t happy, when for Bernadetta’s whole life her happiness was never a consideration.

Hubert had even offered his services as a lawyer if she wanted an annulment. Emile expressed no interest in Bernadetta and almost a month into marriage he had never even taken tea with her let alone shared her bed. It made her feel like an utter failure, but as she spoke with Mercedes, Bernadetta was beginning to suspect this was not her fault. Mercedes and Hubert made Bernadetta feel like for once in her life that there were people who were on her side and in her corner.

However, if she broke off her marriage she’d have to go home to her disappointed parents. She’d lose the few friends she’d ever made. Lysithea was being very nice to her, even if the young woman was a touch odd at times. Marianne wasn’t quite her friend yet, but Bernadetta felt like the quiet young woman was a kindred spirit and could be Bernadetta’s friend, in time. Worst of all though, Bernadetta would lose Mercedes and Hubert, and she did not want to let them go. She wished she could keep all the wonderful parts of her marriage, and prune away the hurtful parts.

“H-Hubert,” called Bernadetta after him as he passed from the stairs towards the parlor. It was still strange to be close enough to people to use their first names.

“Yes? How can I help you Bernadetta?” Hubert was holding a newspaper and his preferred mug of coffee. He was fairly predictable with his routines and Bernadetta knew she would run into him if she just waited here long enough.

“I, I wanted to return your handkerchief to you,” she whispered. It seemed like such a little pointless gesture, but she wanted to do it. Her hand shook as she held it out. A horrid thought that he would dislike her embroidery gripped her but it was too late to take it back.

“Oh, I forgot I even loaned this to you,” said Hubert as he accepted it back. He studied the embroidery with a fond expression. “You know I always thought my handkerchiefs were too boring, too plain, easily loaned and lost. This one though, this one is now special.” He cocked his head at her, “It seems like someone you might give a lady friend, or a romantic interest—”

Bernadetta turned bright red at the suggestion. Was she truly that transparent in her affections? She found him good looking, tall and dark, and he was the first man in her life ever to show her any kindness. However, she also found Mercedes good looking, and the two of them together appeared like they walked from the pages of one of the romance novels she’d found in her room. They had it all: an arranged marriage that actually led to mutual kindness, disagreements that resulted in playful banter instead of yelling, exciting lives in the capital, and the _affection_. They were intoxicating as a pair and Bernadetta could not help but crave that kind of intimacy in her own life.

Hubert noticed her flush and grew serious, “I did not mean to offend you. I know that is not what this is. I should not have teased you.” He looked around for a table to set his mug and paper upon, and then he carefully folded the square of cloth up so that he could tuck it in his breast pocket. He made sure to leave a little flower exposed at the top for anyone to see. “There, perfect, Mercedes will be so pleased that I finally have something fashionable about me.”

Bernadetta took in a nervous but pleased breath at the sight of the handkerchief, “Perhaps I should make one for Mercedes as well! Then you could match.”

“Mercedes also enjoys embroidery, if you would ever wish to join her. I imagine she would love exchanging flowers with you,” mused Hubert as he picked his paper and mug back up. “I’m going to go sit on the deck if you would like to join me.”

“Oh, uh,” Bernadetta had not expected an invitation to just sit. “Yes, yes I will get myself some tea and join you.”

She arrived out on the empty deck with her tea and her own little notebook to keep herself occupied. Hubert was pouring over the Enbarr paper and clearly frustrated that he received the it two days after it was published because of the distance. He looked annoyed with whatever he was reading.

“Do you miss Enbarr?” asked Bernadetta even though it was obvious he did. He seemed itching to leave Hrym House, and often joked about how many days of their stay were left. Bernadetta wished Mercedes and Hubert would never leave, or better yet if they would just take her with them when they went.

Hubert looked up and his expression softened, “I miss it terribly, it’s my home. It’s summer though and not much is happening. The upper class flees to the seaside, the middle class reduces their hours, and the lower class continues to struggle through the heat. If I went home now I’d just be sweating and waiting for court to reconvene for the fall session.”

“And what is it that you’re reading?”

Hubert made a tiny disgusted noise, “Opinion pieces on Lady Edelgard and her policies.”

“Oh,” managed Bernadetta. She knew little of the politics of Enbarr, and she was coming to realize just how sheltered her upbringing had been. Her education had been on domestic matters like sewing and sketching, not domestic affairs like law or trade.

Hubert sighed and drank some coffee. “Nothing to do about it I suppose. I like freedom of speech more than I like silencing her critics. She’s an amazing woman, and when she becomes Emperor she’ll be unstoppable.”

“She sounds very impressive,” said Bernadetta. Hubert constantly talked of Lady Edelgard and how wonderful she was. Bernadetta wondered what it must be like to be so close to the future Emperor. She realized with a mournful twinge that if she had been arranged with Ferdinand as planned, she would probably see the Emperor often and could have been friends with Mercedes and Hubert anyway. “I’d like to visit Enbarr someday.”

“Oh, you should. It’s an amazing city,” said Hubert as he turned the page to leave the unfavorable opinion piece behind.

“I could stay with you and Mercedes,” suggested Bernadetta. How wonderful that would be to go live with them instead of being stuck here in this scary remote house. They could help her get out of her marriage, maybe she could meet a nice gentleman and never go home to the Varley estate again. Or maybe they could just get her dowry back and she could start from there. She didn’t have to get married, perhaps she could find work. She was educated, she could be a governess! Mercedes and Hubert were trying to have a bunch of little babies, and perhaps they needed a nanny at the ready to help them manage.

“You could, we could fit you under the stairs, or up atop the pantry,” jested Hubert.

“What?” Bernadetta’s train of thought derailed.

“Oh, sorry, a joke, our home is very small,” said Hubert. “Enbarr is expensive, and we live in a modest home.”

“Aren’t you the heir of your house?” asked Bernadetta in confusion.

“Technically. I manage to piss my family off at every turn. They disagree with my politics, I would not be surprised if they disinherited me entirely,” said Hubert. He did not seem particularly bothered by this as he continued to scan the paper.

“Well, I am no stranger to disagreeable families,” muttered Bernadetta. She brightened her tone, “I would love to visit your charming home someday.”

“Certainly,” said Hubert, though it was clear he was more focused on the paper now than planning a proper visit. Bernadetta bit her lip and decided that it was too soon to bring up annulment. She’d only been married a few weeks and she was pretty sure that legally she was expected to attempt to stick out a year. Perhaps she would talk more with Mercedes, and try to figure Emile out. Then she could make her decision to run to Enbarr with her in-laws or not.

She could feel the light weight of Lysithea’s love potion in the pocket of her dress. Hubert was absorbed with his paper, and Bernadetta wondered if he would even notice if she slipped him a little. Bernadetta had been dosing Mercedes for weeks without getting caught. Perhaps if she could just get them both to adore her, they would simply take Bernadetta home with them when they left Hrym House and they could stay a little family, related by marriage or not.

***

Hubert finally made good on his promise to visit the archives with Hanneman. He followed the professor and Linhardt as they walked down the property towards a strange structure rising up out of the ground. It was a doorway that led to a staircase going down into the earth. Linhardt pushed open the stone door and they were met with pitch blackness and a low strange echo. Hanneman eagerly lit up his lantern and gestured, “Knowledge awaits.”

Hubert looked in disbelief at the strange darkness, “It’s underground?”

“Most of the interesting stuff in the Hrym lands is underground,” said Linhardt. He seemed unperturbed as he followed Hanneman down the stairs. Hubert gingerly followed after the lamp light.

It was immediately much cooler down in the archives. They passed through a great stone entry way and into stacks that stretched back into the darkness. Linhardt lit up the torches and illuminated the entry to the archives. The rows and rows of bookcases could be infinite for all Hubert knew.

The place was impressively dry for being underground. Hubert ran a finger along the dry walls, “So they don’t worry about flooding?”

“We’re up on a cliff,” yawned Linhardt. He pointed with his own lantern towards little channels carved into the floor, “Any water gets redirected towards the Airmid river. The people of this land really perfected underground structures.”

“The books are in excellent condition, although I wish the lighting for reading was better, or the rules about removing the books were more lax,” said Hanneman with awe in his voice. He adjusted his monocle and pulled a map of the archives from his bag. “Well, no use in burning oil chit chatting! I’m off.” Hanneman moved like a man possessed and took his lantern into the dark archives going deeper and deeper until his light was no longer seen.

Hubert hung by the archway because the place felt foreboding. There were strange symbols carved in the stone that almost looked like an ancient language. Linhardt watched as Hubert studied the symbols, “It is Agarthan, Mr. von Vestra. This is a very old place.”

“So Agarthans were real,” whispered Hubert as his fingers traced the grooves in the stone. He drew in a quick breath as a soft rustling sound filled his ears. It had to be mice or something in the dark. Surely it was not whispers, even if it did sound like, “ _Run_.”

“You can hear them,” said Linhardt with grim amusement.

Hubert’s hackles raised at the suggestion, “Them?”

“The murmurs of the dead,” said Linhardt as he touched the archway. “They whisper warnings. When you start to hear discernible words, well, then it’s too late.”

Hubert felt the blood draining from his face, and then Linhardt laughed, “Sorry Mr. von Vestra. It’s just a trick of the wind. The Hryms of old were said to be necromancers. Even just two hundred years ago these lands were still said to be the gateway between the living and the dying. However, today it appears they were just a theatrical sort.”

Hubert relaxed ever so slightly as he looked at the stone runes again. “They certainly understood how to make a place feel foreboding.”

“Yes, I am amazed at Hanneman’s resilience to the ambiance. He is so focused on finding old texts it seems he notices nothing else,” said Linhardt. He yawned as if bored by the prospect of looking at more tomes. Linhardt surveyed Hubert and nodded towards the stairs up to the surface, “I don’t think you’ll find much of interest in the archives. Would you care to go fishing with me instead?”

Hubert felt like a coward getting scared by some old books and a drafty doorway but he was eager to leave, “Will Hanneman be alright?”

Linhardt shrugged, “It’s just a library Mr. von Vestra, it’s no more dangerous than the house.”

They walked back up to the surface, and Hubert followed Linhardt to a storage shed. Beside it were two stone doors leading underground, “Is that the root cellar?” There were giant footprints left in the mud that Hubert hazarded a guess had to belong to Dedue.

“Those would be the crypts,” said Linhardt casually.

“Oh, I did not realize there were crypts under the property,” whispered Hubert as he looked again at the doors. They were adorned with the same ancient looking text as the archives.

“Yes, the Hryms did not use graveyards, they interred their dead in stone tombs. Like I said, they perfected keeping things under the earth.”

“Wasn’t Shambhala supposed to be a whole underground city?”

Linhardt flinched ever so slightly at the mention of the fabled place, “Yes. I believe it was. I think people believe it was located a little further south though. Hanneman has been suggesting he might try an archaeological dig that way next summer if he continues to find useful information in the archives. He believes he's found a book from the Codices of the Ten Elites, I believe he's transcribing it now.”

“Interesting,” muttered Hubert. He wondered what other secrets were lurking in the Hrym lands, above and below the surface.

He and Linhardt walked along a gently sloping path that gave way to a series of switchbacks that led them down the cliffs to the river. It was enormous, and on other side was the Leiscester Alliance and the Ordelia lands. They chose a nice still section of the water to fish in.

Linhardt cast his line and settled onto an inviting patch of grass along the bank. Hubert followed suit and felt much more at ease than he had in many weeks. He could see forests extending in the distance, “Is that still considered part of the Hrym estate?”

Linhardt followed his gaze and nodded, “Yes, those are the hunting grounds.”

Hubert wasn’t much of a hunter, and he dreaded the idea of Emile inviting him out to shoot some deer or grouse. “Do you have much trouble with poachers?”

Linhardt shook his head, “People know that those that go onto the hunting grounds uninvited are rarely seen again.”

“Oh,” murmured Hubert.

Linhardt gave him yet another lazy smile, “A rumor started by the Hryms themselves no doubt. How better to keep people off your land then telling them they’ll die if they trespass?” He sighed and watched the still fishing line, “Although the most persistent rumors are those with grains of truth hidden in them.”

“Are you from here originally?” Hubert was having trouble placing Linhardt’s accent. It was almost as if he had been trained to speak a classic and older style of Fodlanese than most people. It gave his words an almost archaic air.

“No, I’m from the west, from what used to be Hevring lands.”

“The Hevrings, now there’s a name from history,” sighed Hubert as he tried to remember his primary school lessons. “What, they died out hundreds of years ago did they not?”

“Yes,” said Linhardt. His stare was contemplative as he watched the water. “The heir apparent went off to fight in the War of the Eagle and Lion. He never returned and the family fell to ruin.”

“I seem to remember some story of forbidden love being involved,” said Hubert as he watched the clouds instead of his fishing line. With any good story from history the details had surely been stretched and twisted.

Linhardt chuckled. “Forbidden love, the most tempting kind.” He sighed and reeled his line back in to check that his bait was still on. “I had a partner once,” said Linhardt slowly as he cast his line back into the still section of river. He almost looked at peace as he spoke, “You and your wife remind me of how we were, opposites but complementary.”

“Oh?” said Hubert as he watched some fog rolling far out on the water.

“Yes, he was a brawler if you can believe it,” laughed Linhardt slowly.

“Oh,” said Hubert with quick surprise. He didn’t want to be rude but he wasn’t really sure what the etiquette was when someone so openly acknowledged their homosexuality.

Linhardt scoffed quietly at Hubert’s reaction, “Yes, it was all quite unconventional. I actually renounced my nobility to follow him. We were happy though.”

“What happened?”

“He passed,” whispered Linhardt. “After that, I came here full of questions. I came to search the archives.” His squinted at the water but there was no movement at all, “I was passionate, obsessed really, but in the end I did not find the answers that I wanted.”

“Why do you stay?” asked Hubert. Linhardt did not seem that old but the way he spoke sometimes made him like he’d been here for a very long time. Hubert was bad at guessing ages though, perhaps Linhardt just looked young. It was also just a big leap to imagine trading a life in the nobility for being a footman in the middle of nowhere. 

Linhardt was quiet for a few moments as he contemplated his answer. Eventually he spoke, “Have you ever found yourself in limbo Mr. von Vestra? Part of me wishes to move on from this place, but the hope that I may find my answers yet tethers me here.”

“Is there anything I might do to help?” asked Hubert quietly. “Help in the archives perhaps?” As much as he did not like the feeling of being down in that place, he did have a whole summer to idle away and it would feel better to do something with a purpose to it.

“I would stay away from those old books I were you,” warned Linhardt. “Knowledge like that sometimes requires sacrifice, and I do not think you would wish to pay that price.”

Hubert’s line tugged once, there was a bite. Linhardt smiled at the sight and then looked back to Hubert, “No, I would just appreciate you not mentioning what I’ve told you to Dr. von Essar. He thinks I am a simple footman with academic potential. I do not wish to disappoint him with the truth, that I was an academic who gave it all up for a mundane and quiet existence.”

***

Bernadetta had been quietly following Marianne around the property. Marianne spent much of her time in the stables. Bernadetta finally worked up her courage and decided she would at last talk to the quiet young woman.

“I saw the most beautiful sunrise this morning Dorte, you would have loved it,” said Marianne to a horse as she patted its nose.

As Bernadetta stepped into the stables there was a sudden growl. Bernadetta let out a small squeak of terror as a great big black mastiff emitted a low warning sound. It watched her from its kennel. Marianne turned and gasped, “Bernadetta! What are you doing in here?”

Bernadetta recovered from her shock and stared at the gentle young woman before her. She felt supremely foolish as she wrung her hands, “I followed you here, to see if you might want to spend some time together.”

“Why? Why would you want to spend time with me?” whispered Marianne in a panic. “I am no good, you should keep away.”

“I don’t believe that is true,” said Bernadetta softly. She bit her lip, “I think you and I are similar. I would like to be friends.” It was exhausting trying to express all this.

Marianne said nothing but looked horrified at the notion. Bernadetta wanted to run. “I don’t have friends,” Marianne paused and looked at the horse and then at the dog, “At least not human ones.”

“Would you like one?” Bernadetta trembled as she asked it.

“No. No for your own sake, keep away,” begged Marianne. Bernadetta felt her facial expression falling and Marianne looked even more upset, “I’m sure you would be a wonderful friend, I just do not deserve any. The goddess has cursed me, and it is better if I am left alone.”

Bernadetta sighed and looked at the horse, “Perhaps you might introduce me to Dorte, was it? Perhaps I can make friends with him.”

Marianne’s lip twitched as if she was trying to smile but could not. “Yes, Dorte here is a very good friend of mine. He, he would not mind another friend I suppose.” The horse neighed and Marianne actually smiled, “He said it would be okay if you wanted to bring him some apples or something of that ilk.”

“Pleasure to meet you Dorte,” said Bernadetta softly as she came to stroke the horse’s coat. He was a well maintained chestnut colored horse. The only other horse in the stables was all the way at the other end of the barn in a stall and it looked ill tempered. It was black and wild looking, “What’s that horse's name?”

Marianne regard the creature warily, “That is Bloodbane, Emile’s horse. He is misunderstood.” She looked at Bernadetta, “He is slow to warm to people, I would be careful around him.” She looked then at the great black mastiff that had settled back into a nap in his kennel, “And that is Fell Star, his bark is worse than his bite. He guards the property at night.”

“I wouldn’t want to cross either,” murmured Bernadetta. There was another kennel, clearly used, but presently empty, “Is there another dog?”

Marianne looked at the empty kennel with a grim look, “Um no, there are no other dogs.”

Bernadetta shook aside the feeling that Marianne wasn’t telling her the whole truth and focused instead on the horse. She and Marianne brushed Dorte on either side and did not speak much more. To be around another quiet person was comforting. Perhaps Bernadetta would be able to make a new friend, slowly. Hopefully Dorte would put in a good word for her.

***

This was the type of spell that would blanket the whole house, regardless of who Lysithea was directing it at, so she had prepared accordingly. Emile was presently in a drug induced sleep and bound up in his bed for good measure. Marianne had been given fair warning, and had elected to spend her evening safe in the stables. Lysithea idly wondered if the spell would affect Dorte the horse, and if horses could even dream.

She had at been insulted at first when she was given this guest room. This had clearly been a little girl’s room at one time, and Lysithea detested being treated like a child. She had been quite young when she made her first journey to Hrym, only seven years old, and at that time she had bristled at the pink walls, the poofy dust ruffle, the billowing drapes, and most of all at the stupid doll house. It was no one’s business that she still played with dolls, a fact she hid, and she wished for a more adult room even then. Now, thirteen years later, Lysithea had learned to embrace her child-like appearance. It made people assume she was weak. It made them underestimate her.

The doll house was a full replica of Hrym House from attic to the lowest levels of the crypts. It was old and finely made, with each room recreated in impressive detail. It stood as tall as she did and was extremely heavy. Lysithea peered into the windows like a giant as she opened the great big toy up. The front of the house hinged outward so that she could put her special dolls in every room.

Cornelia had taught her to make these dolls. Lysithea, by virtue of surviving the awful consumptive plague that swept through her family’s lands, drew the witch’s interests. When Emile arrived at Hrym house as a young teen and presented the promise of restoration of the Hrym line, Lysithea had been sent along too. Briefly it was debated if the two should be arranged for marriage, but upon examination it was discovered that Lysithea had been too damaged by the disease that killed off all her siblings. She would never bear children, and she was not expected to make it much longer into her twenties. However, while her present body was a dying shell, the Hrym’s brand of magic was all about blurring the lines of life and death.

Cornelia and Volkhard were both much, much older than they appeared. They had survived the curse upon their land by dwelling beneath it. They only came up to the surface in order to start the house anew. Volkhard had trained Emile in the Order of Sariel, and helped to channel the youth’s natural blood lust, while Cornelia had mentored Lysithea who was a clear prodigy in the dark arts. The faces they wore masked what they really looked like, a fact Lysithea had only learned after Emile, or rather Jeritza, had slaughtered the two in front of her. When that happened Lysithea had left and swore never to return, yet here she was. She had only dared venture back when she heard a rumor that someone, a faith healer, had finally tamed him.

Jeritza had destroyed her chance to learn how to take a body like Cornelia and Volkhard, but he was at least cooperating with her on this spell. However, she needed to make sure her pieces were falling into place, and to do that she would use her subjects dreams to spy on their hearts. It was easier to manipulate people when one knew what they wanted.

“And that which the heart desires, shall be known tonight,” whispered Lysithea over the doll house replica of Hrym House as she moved her little pawns into their doll beds. She traced a pale finger over Marianne’s doll in the stables. She made sure to tie Emile’s to its doll bed, just in case. She arranged the servants safe and sound in the crypts where they slumbered.

She scoffed as she picked up Hanneman’s doll, he wasn’t part of her original plan but she had found a good use for him. She had hypnotized him to transcribe one of those nasty books from the archives for her so she didn’t have to risk going down there herself. He still had more pages to collect for her before she could start making her body so she gently kissed the Hanneman doll and gave him a spell of protection.

Lastly she picked up her newest toys, poor unloved Bernadetta, secret keeping Mercedes, and cynical lustful Hubert. She held the three of them tight in her hands as she stared into their blank faces. “Sleep tight my loves,” she cooed as she tucked them into their respective beds.

The spell settled over the house like a heavy fog rolling down from the mountains. Marianne felt it first in her kennel. “Hilda,” she whispered as the tears leaked from her eyes and memories of pink hair tickled her nose. Best friend. Only human friend. “Hilda what did I do to you? I can’t, I can’t remember.” Dorte hung his nose down between the bars for her to reach up and pet. “What did I do?”

Hanneman’s dreams were of his sister, the one he didn’t know until too late that he needed to save. He rolled in his bed with deep unease as the guilt gripped him. Yet the worst that would happen to him was a poor night's sleep, and he would not wake with any memory of these dreams. Lysithea needed him to focus on his transcribing and nothing else, she couldn't afford any more delays. 

The servants felt it next as they recalled the faces of those that had pulled them to Hrym in the first place. For Linhardt, he had come here dragging Caspar’s bones on his back. Caspar, brave dead Caspar. Bones alone were no good for resurrecting, the patriarch of Hrym informed Linhardt, but he was welcomed to descend into the archives to look through the lost ways for answers. Linhardt had stayed down there, ignoring sleep and hunger, determined to find a way to restore his lover. He died in the archives and awoke at the hands of the Hrym sorcerers. He had died of sleep deprivation, but once pulled from his not quite eternal slumber he found himself constantly fatigued.

Shamir had not come here of her own accord. Her partner had drug her body to this cursed place after that horrible battle on the shores of Nuvelle. The Hrym sorcerers had looked at the corpse and warned it had been too long to bring her back as she was. Her partner persisted. Shamir had screamed as she died and woke up screaming as she was resurrected. Well, what was left of her anyway screamed because what was left was not enough. Tonight she did not see her partner, the coward that fled what she’d become, no tonight she only saw the darkness of the depths she had been pulled from to reenter the light against her will.

Dedue had been brought here by an accident of fate. He had washed down the Airmid when Leicester broke free of Faerghus, back when he had fought side by side with knights of the Kingdom and long before the revenge desired by House Blaiddyd destroyed Duscar. The fish had all but eaten his tongue out when the necromancers of Hrym pulled him from the waters. He dreamed of a home that no longer existed, and people whose children’s children were all long dead. He would scream out but it was pointless, his dead could not hear him and he could not tell the living of the burdens of his memories.

Lysithea did not care about those dreams and desires and she left those dolls untouched. Using the dolls she could glimpse inside a mind. It was a useful tool for stealing information to get under someone's skin but it was dangerous to do this with a waking mind. However, a sleeping one was so confused and focused on a dream that she could slip in unnoticed and stay a while. Tonight she only cared about her newest dolls and if they were ready yet for use in her most ambitious spell yet.

Lysithea began with Bernadetta. She pulled the doll from its bed and closed her eyes. When she opened them she was in a bedroom. It was small and modest with a single bed by a window with a view of a city beyond it. Bernadetta looked small and almost childlike in the middle of the bed. She appeared cozy and content under a quilt. Mercedes and Hubert were, reading her a bed time story? Lysithea blinked in disbelief. They each kissed Bernadetta good night on either side of her little purple head and tucked her in. Lysithea gaped, did Bernadetta deeply desire to be _adopted_ by the von Vestras? Lysithea snapped herself out of the weird dream and returned the doll to its bed. So strange. It was not the steamy kind of love Lysithea had been hoping to glimpse, but it was a seed of an idea she could use. 

At least Hubert’s dreams would probably be debauched. She braced herself for an orgy but found herself landing in an office, and not even a particularly exciting one. Lysithea turned and found herself face to face with an imposing looking young woman with white blond hair and intense violet eyes. The future Emperor was looking through Lysithea and at Hubert, “We’re finally ready to make our move.” Lysithea edged away so that she wasn't caught between the subjects of the dream.

Lysithea held her breath and half expected Hubert to passionately embrace the Emperor but he just bowed. The Emperor smiled approvingly, “Tomorrow you will begin to choke them on their own corruption.”

“With pleasure, Lady Edelgard,” said Hubert, looking about as happy as Lysithea had ever seen him. He was dreaming…about work. Goddess he was boring. Lysithea groaned but luckily dream Hubert was shifting the scene to pick up on his way home. Lysithea hurried to keep up pace with him as he ascended the stairs to his front door. Mercedes was waiting for him. “I finally got promoted, no more defense cases. I’ve been made prosecutor for the crown.”

“Oh Hubert! Finally, you’ve been waiting forever for that,” said Mercedes happily before kissing him. Lysithea dodged out of the way as Hubert picked up Mercedes and leaned her against the wall. She pushed aside the coats on their hooks and hitched her skirts as they started to grind against each other. Lysithea folded her arms, so Hubert desired a promotion and spontaneous celebratory sex in the foyer with his wife, predictable. She shook herself out of the vision before dream Hubert could get out his dick and sighed. His love was pure, which was a powerful sort of magic in its own right, but it would be difficult to channel properly. She had to hope Mercedes would bear the boon she needed to power up her spell. 

Lysithea picked up Mercedes’ doll last. Lysithea’s eyes rolled back as she walked into the dream. Mercedes' hair was tied back and she was smiling and talking to someone that didn’t exist in the waking world. It was a little boy with big blue eyes and raven hair and Mercedes was letting him lick brownie batter from a spoon in her kitchen. He kicked and smiled from his high chair as he looked up at his proud mother. 

“You might look like your father, but you have my superior sense of taste,” exclaimed Mercedes with delight as she dabbed the little toddler’s mouth with a napkin. Lysithea rolled her eyes, Mercedes desired a baby, how trite and absolutely unhelpful. The dream faded as Mercedes focus shifted and morphed. Lysithea suppressed the natural nausea that came with spying on dreams that could change without a moments notice.

Lysithea dodged a waiter at a popular tea house in Fhirdiad as she spied her subject at a table. Mercedes had her hair short to her chin and she was wearing a conservative black number. She didn’t look to be in mourning, but instead attractive and mysterious as if this were the idealized sexy version of herself. Lysithea edged closer when a red headed woman brushed through her and took the seat across from Mercedes. A stranger? Lysithea frowned as she got close enough to listen.

“Hello Mercedes,” said the young woman stiffly as she sat. There was oppressive tension between them as the sounds around them died away and left only the two.

“Annie,” said Mercedes with a sly smile. Lysithea could practically smell the potent mix of feelings in the dream: lust, anger, betrayal. The witch smiled, this was good.

“I think I’ve said all I need to say, I don’t know why you keep pestering me about this,” said Annie as she glanced around uncomfortably but stared right through Lysithea.

Mercedes rolled her eyes, “I know. I’ve asked you here for _closure_.” She wasn’t drinking tea, she was drinking wine.

Annie looked confused, “Closure? Mercedes you were the one who yelled at me! I don’t understand—”

“Annie, I’m just trying to understand if you ever loved me or if this was just a passing fancy,” said Mercedes through gritted teeth.

Lysithea drew in a sharp breath, this was perfect for her needs. Dream Annie could not answer because apparently real Annie had never given Mercedes the closure that she so deeply craved. Lysithea was hit with another wave of nausea as the dream broke away. Mercedes had woken up. Minutes later Lysithea heard a telltale bed squeak and groaned; Hubert's sex dream apparently was spilling over into real life. Lysithea stared at the wall between their rooms and rolled her eyes. 

Lysithea sighed and stared at the dolls. A smaller noise drew her attention and her blood ran cold as she realized Emile’s doll was struggling against its bindings. Lysithea quietly rose and locked her bedroom door. It would not keep him out if he truly wanted to get in but it made her feel safer all the same. She closed the doll house, which muffled but did not completely mask the rattling.

Jeritza was getting stronger, and Lysithea was getting weaker. She hoped Hanneman would hurry up and finished transcribing the Book of Lamine for her. She needed to cast her body spell and she needed to get everything in place soon or Jertiza was going to snap free and kill all her precious ingredients before she could use them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The B support between Mercedes and Annette was super awkward in my opinion. 
> 
> Oh yeah, and there are dead people walking around Hrym House.


	6. The Five of Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five men appear to be fighting each other though their wands do not cross, indicating a purposeless conflict. This is a card of battle, chaos, and discord and signals a coming change and transformation.  
> ////
> 
> HEY! Spoilers ahead: ***Content Warning****: This chapter deals with marital problems, and physical assault with threats of sexual violence. Just as a general blanket statement, I do not write non-consensual sex scenes in this (or any) work.

Hubert was enjoying sleeping in, and enjoying it all the more as Mercedes’ hand began to gently stroke his sleepy but semi-aroused cock. “Good morning,” he murmured as she worked him. This was a nice way to wake up, maybe vacation was not that bad after all.

“Good _Sunday_ morning,” said Mercedes in his ear.

“No,” moaned Hubert as he buried his head under a pillow. When she wanted him to go to church she made very persuasive arguments.

Mercedes coaxed him onto his back. “You don’t have any prayers for the goddess?”

Hubert loved and loathed this game. “Oh Seiros,” he groaned as he felt her take him in her mouth. “Oh goddess.” It was just a tease of what he could have if he promised to go to church. She returned to using her hands.

Mercedes tempted him with a few gentle kisses on his hip bones, “That’s not very spirited. I know you can do better.”

Hubert pulled the pillow off his head and stared at her settled fully dressed between his naked legs. “You don’t make me go to church in Enbarr,” he protested even as he delighted in the gentle feeling of her touch.

“This is a small town, people will talk if my husband never attends church,” she said with a pout. Everyone in this stupid place went to church; it was the inescapable social event of the week.

“So you’re going to make me come,” he whispered as she responded by resuming things with her mouth. He clapped his hands together in prayer and shut his eyes as he focused on the intense feeling growing in his lower belly, “Oh, dear Sothis, glory be thy name, thank you for sending me this woman who is so worried about my soul. I don’t know what goes on in your convents, but I approve of her methods.” Mercedes seemed to enjoy of his panting prayers as she took him deeper. “I promise I will be so good, and now I shall start confessing my sins.” He lost his focus for a moment but Mercedes started to recede at his silence so Hubert quickly came up with a funny one for her, “I stared at my wife’s backside for an inordinately long time in front of her brother, and I think he noticed. Why Sothis, why did you make her butt so perfectly round? I am a mere mortal, and it’s irresistible.”

Mercedes came up for a laugh as she squeezed his hips, “Did you really get caught?”

“I can’t help it, you’re entrancing,” he whispered as he brushed his fingers through her hair. He sat up, “Fine, I’ll go to church.”

Mercedes smiled up at him, “I knew I could make you feel the goddess’ love.”

She latched back on and he let out a gasp at the thrill of the warm sensation. “Oh goddess,” he groaned, repeatedly. He shuddered at he released and realized that now he really had to go to church. One of these days he would be strong, one of these days he would finally get to skip the sermon and sleep in. However as Mercedes wiped her lips he knew he couldn’t desecrate her beautiful mouth like this and get away with not going to the service.

In his Sunday suit and sitting in the chapel Hubert wondered if this had really been a fair trade. Thinking about the blow job helped to get him through the hymns and the chanting prayers but it was a little dangerous to focus on something so arousing while listening to the painfully dull sermon. The preacher Tomas was droning on while the organ player, Monica, added in dramatic notes to emphasize his words. The place was packed with parishioners for Saint Cethleann Day. This was usually a light holiday with a good fish festival but in Hrym things were grim and serious as usual.

Marianne and Mercedes were both listening attentively. Hubert and Bernadetta exchanged glances of boredom. Beside Bernadetta, Emile was sitting in a stony silence with a harsh expression. Lysithea on the far end of the pew was practically asleep. Hanneman was sitting with the local doctor, and possibly town harlot, Manuela. None of the Hrym house servants attended church; Sunday was their day off and none of them seemed to be particularly interested in the goddess.

“The resurrection of the Goddess will someday come to pass,” said Tomas dramatically. Monica played a few off key notes that assaulted Hubert’s ears. “When that day comes and the Goddess Sothis is reborn into a mortal, we must prepare for judgment and the end of days.” Monica laid into a dissonant tritone. She looked as bored as Hubert felt.

As they walked back to the house Hubert watched as Mercedes and Marianne were deep in conversation about the preacher’s words. He gave a dubious glance to Lysithea and Bernadetta beside him, “What are you doing to prepare for the end of days?”

Bernadetta blushed and shook her head, “I don’t believe in literal interpretation of the scriptures.” She seemed just a little braver as she settled into her first month of living at Hrym House and growing used to the people around her. Hubert was still aghast at how Emile ignored her, but she appeared to be getting on fine with her new friends. She was constantly around people now but Hubert got the sense that was not the norm for her. Friends appeared to be a very new concept, and as a result she was being a bit of an odd one to him. He sometimes caught her staring at him, or Mercedes, but she was far from the strangest person in the house. That would be the witch.

Lysithea giggled, “Some say the goddess has already been reborn, and yet the world still spins.” She gave him a sly look, “Perhaps we can discuss it over tea if you and wife can take a break from your typical afternoon attempts at baby making.” Hubert flushed as he wondered if everyone in the house knew what he and Mercedes often did while everyone else was out enjoying tea.

Lysithea was a master at vexing Hubert. The jibes about his private life were near constant, although he’d recently learned she could hear just about everything from her adjacent room so perhaps she’d earned that right to mock. He could see Emile within earshot and decided a joke about sex being his personal way of dealing with the end of days would not be appreciated. Honestly, if the world was about to end thanks to the goddess, Hubert suspected there was little to be done to prevent that and he might as well just enjoy himself while reveling in how wrong he and Lady Edelgard had been about the nature of divinity. They had jested when they were younger that if the world was ending thanks to the Goddess and they were both still virgins they’d at least knock that out with each other in style. Hubert stopped himself from laughing at the memory and brushed it aside. It was inconceivable now but at sixteen it had been a solid plan.

Emile was walking with a smart looking cane, though it was pure accessory, as he caught up to the three. Bernadetta shrank a bit as he offered his arm to her. “As if the priests would even recognize the Goddess staring them in the face,” said Emile as they strode.

Hubert studied Emile walking with Bernadetta and was relieved that he was showing what would be considered a normal interest in his wife. She looked beside herself as she stared at his arm linked with hers as if she had never seen a limb before. As far as Hubert had seen, Emile only seemed to ignore people or have an unhealthy interest in them, so to see him so casually polite was refreshing and hopeful. “You don’t seem to have a high regard for Tomas,” said Hubert as he tested the waters for any common ground between him and his brother-in-law.

“No,” said Emile bluntly. “I have a low opinion on how the Church is run these days. I think a new archbishop is long overdue.”

Hubert didn’t have too many opinions on Rhea, the reigning archbishop, other than that she had no business in Adrestian politics. Lysithea yawned, “As if a new archbishop would really be any different. I swear they’ve all looked the same since Seiros, I mean really, have you seen the portraits?”

Bernadetta giggled a little and Emile gave her a not too harsh look. Maybe there was hope for their marriage yet. Leaving her here at the end of the summer was the only thing he and Mercedes were really worried about, but if things got better in the marriage then they could escape back to Enbarr guilt free. As it got closer to the end of summer, Hubert was getting more antsy to leave.

***

“Is everything all right?” Bernadetta broke the silence in the room as the ladies of Hrym House sat embroidering flowers. Well, Bernadetta, Mercedes, and Marianne were embroidering flowers. Lysithea was playing with her tarot cards and enjoying their quiet company.

Mercedes looked up and realized she’d been staring into space lost in thought. She and Emile had not had a proper conversation since their terrible tea time where he essentially confessed to murder and she couldn’t stop thinking about it, “Oh, sorry.” She hadn’t told anyone and it was just another secret gnawing at her.

“Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?” asked Bernadetta. She was such a sweet girl, and Mercedes had no desire to terrify her what she had learned, especially not after how happy she was at Emile’s uncharacteristic warmness towards her this week. Instead of the truth, Mercedes put on a brave face and a smile, “I was just thinking how nice it would be to have you visit Enbarr.”

“Oh did Hubert bring that up?” asked Bernadetta as she pulled a thread through the fabric on her hoop.

No he had not. Mercedes cocked an eyebrow, “Oh, did he already invite you?”

Bernadetta blushed, “I might have invited myself. I’m sorry to impose, that was too forward of me.”

“No, you’re fine,” said Mercedes quickly. “You’re like our sister now, we would be delighted to host you.”

As they finished with their embroidery Bernadetta cheerfully followed after Marianne to visit Dorte the horse. Mercedes packed up her supplies as Lysithea lingered to watch her.

Lysithea looked charmed, “How sweet that you have taken to Bernadetta like a sister.”

Mercedes blushed, “Oh, thank you. I just want her to feel safe and welcomed into the family.”

“You had another sister once, didn’t you?” whispered Lysithea with a small smile.

Mercedes smiled despite her confusion, “No, Emile is my only sibling.” She rarely acknowledged her deceased step siblings as family.

“Then why does the name Annie ring so loud inside your heart?” asked Lysithea as her smile widened.

Mercedes paled, “Where did you hear that name?” How on earth did this woman know about Annette? They were roommates at college. Mercedes’ marriage to Hubert was delayed so that he could finish law school, and his family had paid for her to attend a Women’s College in the meantime to get a liberal arts degree so she would fit better into the elite social circles of the von Vestras. At least they had let her take some nursing classes, which was what she was truly interested in. It was there she had met Annette Dominic, her first love and first heartbreak.

Lysithea pushed her index finger into Mercedes’ chest, “Your heart is practically screaming out for her. You miss her so.”

“I-I need to,” started Mercedes in a confused panic as she tried to think of an escape, “I’m not feeling well.” Mercedes got up and stumbled as she rushed to get out of the parlor. She moved through the house in a haze as memories of Annie bubbled up in her mind.

Mercedes crashed into Hubert and nearly fell, but he caught her, “Mercedes? What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mercedes grabbed at his shirt to steady herself and gave a look over her shoulder to make sure Lysithea was not trailing her. She turned back to Hubert, “I need to speak with you, in private.”

They stole up to their room and Hubert locked the door. He even checked that the windows were shut before sitting beside Mercedes on the bed.

“I don’t know how she knows, but she does,” whispered Mercedes as she rocked back and forth.

“Who?” started Hubert.

Mercedes looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “That von Ordelia woman knows something about me, something secret that I-I should have told you, but—”

Hubert wrapped one hand around her shoulder and took her hands in the other, “What? You know you can tell me anything.”

Mercedes shut her eyes. This was going to hurt him, she could feel it, but she needed to tell him before Lysithea could, “Before we were married, I had an affair.”

“Oh,” said Hubert quietly. He was clearly caught off guard by the admission. “Were we arranged to be wed at that point—”

“Yes,” said Mercedes with a quiet burning shame brewing in her stomach. “It was when I was at school in Fhirdiad.” The school that she was only at because her future in-laws were paying for it.

Hubert had let go of her to rub his face as he processed what she was telling him, “Are you still in contact with him?”

Mercedes closed her eyes, “It wasn’t a man.” It was Annie, wonderful Annie, her world for a time. Mercedes swallowed down her feelings. Annie, who had married her arranged ‘sweetheart’ Felix following graduation and was living happily in Faerghus. Annie, who had argued that they couldn’t just run away together. Annie, who made Mercie swear to never tell. Annie, who had far more to lose if this got out.

“You were with a woman?” clarified Hubert in confusion.

Mercedes nodded. Her closest guarded secret was out. Hubert’s face contorted in suspicion, “Dare I ask if you are even attracted to me at all?” He looked like he was going to be sick.

Mercedes turned towards him with panic in her eyes, “Yes, Hubert, of course I’m attracted to you. I love you.” Even if it was arranged, even if she didn’t choose him like she had chosen to love Annie, she still felt strongly towards him. She would not do half the things she did with him if she wasn’t attracted to him. She wouldn’t be so eager to start their family if she didn’t love him.

Hubert’s hands were clasped as he leaned his head against them. He took a few deep breaths. He had his eyes squeezed shut, “And the Ordelia woman confronted you about this? Do you think she means to blackmail you?”

“Blackmail? I don’t know,” whispered Mercedes as that horrifying thought gripped her. “What would that possibly accomplish?”

“I don’t know, social ruin?” offered Hubert in a dry sharp tone. “How did this even come up?”

“She, she was commenting on my closeness with Bernadetta,” whispered Mercedes. “And she likened it to my affair.”

Hubert glanced at her, and for the first time since they’d wed, all Mercedes saw in his pale green eyes was doubt and hurt, “Are you trying to be with Bernadetta in that manner?”

“What? I, no,” rushed Mercedes. She was fond of Bernadetta, and she missed being with Annie at times, but that didn’t mean she desired her sister-in-law, did she? There were a lot of similarities between the two women though; both were small and charming, enjoyed singing and cute things. However, Annie had been outgoing and energetic, while Bernadetta was far more shy and introverted.

Mercedes firmed up her resolve. She did not believe that two women being in love should be a sin. The goddess protected love, celebrated it, and Mercedes could not believe that her divine light did not extend to love in all its forms. Yet to lust after her sister-in-law, well, that was different, that was bordering on incest was it not? Contemplating sleeping with Emile’s wife made her heart race, “No. I am not interested in Bernadetta in that way. She’s my brother’s wife, that’s wrong on so many levels.” If Bernadetta was not Emile’s wife though, would her answer change? That dark thought kept pushing to the forefront of her mind.

Hubert massaged his face as if having the same doubt, “So tell me, are you still in love with this woman from school?”

“No,” said Mercedes even though a small part of her still pined for Annette. “Well, no, it’s not love but I do think of her often because it hurt to lose her.”

Mercedes watched as Hubert exhaled and would not meet her eyes. “This is why the tone of your letters suddenly changed,” he whispered as if a terrible realization had just dawned upon him.

“What?” She wasn’t even sure what he was referring to.

“During our engagement I sent you all those stupid letters so we could get to know each other. When you would write me back, if you would write me back, you were distant and disinterested,” began Hubert. His throat sounded tight, “And I understood. Why on earth would you be interested in someone you didn’t choose, that you didn’t know or want? Then, _something_ changed, and you started sounding warmer in your responses. I foolishly thought maybe I had finally won you over, but now I know that it was because it was because you couldn’t have the person you were truly interested in.”

“Hubert,” whispered Mercedes. She had little to say because it was true. She cleared her throat and tried to look positive, though it was difficult, “At first your letters were a terrible reminder of what awaited me. I dreaded their arrival because it very clear you could not be willed away. I thought perhaps if I ignored you, you would stop but you did not. You would send your little updates with such dutiful regularity I could set a calendar to them.”

She watched him staring at the ground and knew she owed him the truth. “She was my roommate. A noblewoman, an important one, also in an arranged engagement to a man she barely knew. She was sweet and I fell for her, hard. We were very close but when I asked her to run away with me, she was horrified I would even suggest such a thing.”

She saw Hubert’s eyes were squeezed shut and a few silent tears were trailing down his face, “You were going to run off with her?” He looked as if she’d stabbed him, with all the color leaving his face.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to give you the truth,” whispered Mercedes. “She told me she couldn’t do that to her mother. Her father had left when she was a girl, abandoned the family, and she swore she would never do the same.” Mercedes felt her back of her throat getting hot and stinging as she recalled their conversation as Annie explained her reasons for why they could not be together in the way Mercedes wanted. “She thought we could just continue as we were until graduation, and then we would move on to our real lives with our husbands, and somehow still be friends. That was not agreeable to me, it hurt too much.”

Mercedes found that she was crying as Hubert wordlessly passed her a handkerchief. He still would not look at her. Mercedes begrudgingly dried her eyes, “After she told me she wouldn’t leave her life to start one with me, we were out at the market and something small happened, and I just lost it at her. It was like she blamed me for feeling as strongly as I did, and I felt like I didn’t even know her anymore.”

Mercedes was still ashamed almost a year later about her outburst, “I scared her. I hurt her with my words, and right after that she moved out of our dorm. She told our friends I was just upset about my upcoming marriage to you, which everyone could sympathize with, and that I needed time to myself. And so everyone gave me ample space. I have never felt so alone and isolated as I did then.”

Mercedes tucked her hair back and sighed as she took Hubert’s hand. He did not recoil but he did not return her grip. His limbs were limp and listless. “Your letters kept coming because you had no idea my world had been turned inside out. So, I started writing you back because you were the only person talking with me as it were. You were like a raft sent to save me from drowning.”

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me when I asked if you had ever been in love,” whispered Hubert. He’d asked her on their wedding night before they had sex for the first time. He had never been with anyone else and he said he didn’t mind if she had been, he just wished to know. She had lied, and told him no because how could she possibly explain that she’d been head over heels for a woman while engaged to him? How could she tell him any of it without making him feel like a horrible consolation prize?

“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would react this way,” said Mercedes.

“Please do not turn this around like this is my fault,” said Hubert as he took his hand back. He sighed and rose from the bed with his arms tightly crossed. He paced and frowned as he ruminated on things, “I will prepare to go back to Enbarr, please enjoy the rest of your summer here, and when you come home, if you come home, we’ll talk bout living arrangements and all that.”

“Living arrangements?” asked Mercedes weakly.

“I cannot share a bed with someone who does not wish me there,” said Hubert. “It’s fine, we’ll just reorganize the house, we’ll have our own lonely spaces to reign over, just like my parents, just like your brother. I thought we were different from them, but now I can see we’re not special.”

“I don’t want that,” said Mercedes in a quiet panic. She did love him, it had taken time, but she did. “What I had with Annette was over before we wed. I only want you now.”

“Really Mercedes, I know what I look like, I know how opposite we are,” whispered Hubert as he stared at her. She’d seen that look in his eyes before, but only directed at his opponents in court and never her. It was that sharp glare he saved for those he held in contempt. “Forgive me if I am suspicious that you wouldn’t prefer a woman or a more agreeable man over me.”

“Self pity does not suit you,” she warned. “Yes, fine, sometimes I desire women, but that does not mean I cannot also desire you,” said Mercedes angrily. Just because she wasn’t open about it like someone like Dorothea did not mean she did not feel the same complex attractions to both sexes. “And please, as if you don’t have your own hidden desires. Look me in the face and tell me you’re not in love with Edelgard.”

“Of course I love her, she is my oldest, closest friend, but that does not mean I wish I was with her,” said Hubert, hissing more than whispering.

“Only because you do not think you’re worthy of her,” said Mercedes. Mercedes had her own share of insecurities about their relationship thanks to her husband’s fawning devotion for the formidable Imperial princess. Of course Hubert worshiped Edelgard, he spoke of her all the time, but he clearly saw himself as beneath her. The only thing keeping them apart was his own inferiority complex.

“I’m not mindlessly pining for Lady Edelgard. Yes, I admire her, and yes, I will do just about anything to see her goals achieved, but not because I think the end she’ll suddenly want to sleep with me.”

“Sex isn’t everything Hubert,” said Mercedes softly. “Fine, I should have told you about Annette, but maybe you should acknowledge that the love you hold for Edelgard will always be more than the love you can spare for me.”

Hubert gave a look like she had sliced into him with her last comment. He shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths before returning a passive stare at her, “If you find yourself bored with me, if you find your desires wandering into other beds, please at least let me know so that I might try to find a lover of my own for some solace.” She could see the way he slumped as he suggested it. He sighed and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked in confusion. This was far from settled.

“Away, anywhere but here,” he said softly with a crushed look before he left.

***

Everyone knew _something_ had happened. The chill between Mercedes and Hubert was painfully apparent. Hubert kept to himself and avoided everyone as much as possible. He slept on couches and chairs rather than in bed with Mercedes. They had never had a real fight before and Hubert wasn’t exactly a person who was good at apologizing or making up with people. He wasn’t even sure what he could say. It wasn’t as if he was going to suddenly renounce his loyalty to Edelgard because Mercedes felt jealous. If Edelgard was a prince instead of princess this wouldn’t even be an issue. He wasn’t telling Mercedes to get rid of her female friends, even though she was potentially attracted to them. It was a petty point for her to harp on and he was hurt and pissed about everything they’d said to each other.

He was caught off guard when Emile approached him about spending some time together sparring. Hubert didn’t want to be rude, but physically training with Emile was low on his list of things he looked forward to. However Emile had asked specifically, and since Hubert had all but avoided any one-on-one interactions with his brother-in-law, he now felt obligated to accept. He also figured it was a good way to blow off all the building anger inside him. This would be healthier than risking verbally exploding at Mercedes if they tried to settle things.

Once when the Hryms were prosperous, they had great herds of cattle grazing over their lands that they would round up and cull in a stone room with sloped floors that led to a drain to wash away the blood. Now there were only a few cows for milk and a small herd of steer, and so Emile had converted what had once been the slaughterhouse into a training area. There were still animals slaughtered here, but it was no longer the great production it once had been. The room continued to slope into an underground cold storage where the cuts of meat were hung to cure and store.

The room smelled like blood and needed better ventilation. It was dimly lit by several big braziers that gave the whole place a medieval prison sort of feel. Hubert pulled nervously at his old military training clothing. Romanced by the idea of serving Adrestia as a teenager during the Brigid and Dagda invasion, Hubert had insisted upon attending military school with Edelgard much to his family’s consternation. He’d then done his mandatory service with enthusiasm, even though there was no more war, and went to law school after, finishing much later than his family would have preferred. He had a bitter realization that if he’d just gone along with his family’s prescribed schedule of schooling, Mercedes would have never bunked with Annette and he wouldn’t be in this mess of feelings.

Enshrined at one end of the room was a suit of armor. It was matte black and adorned with spikes. A tattered crimson cape that had clearly seen war hung from the back. It was the helmet though that caught Hubert’s eyes and captured his attention. It was stylized like a skull with two great horns that twisted up. Hubert could imagine the terror if this was the last thing a soldier saw on the battlefield.

“To don the helm of the Death Knight was the highest honor a Hrym soldier could attain in the old days,” said Emile slowly as he came up behind Hubert. “That scythe, there on the wall, could only be wielded by the leader of the Order of Sariel, though it was said that through the ages they had experts in various instruments of death.”

“Oh,” managed Hubert as he looked at the massive foreboding scythe upon the wall. It was decorated with symbols similar to what Hubert had seen etched into the doorway of the archives. Other weapons adorned the wall behind the armor.

Emile pulled an imposing looking flail off the wall as if the weight was nothing to him. The killing end of it was a solid spiked ball that looked like it could knock a head clean off. The chain clinked as the weight moved, and was clearly well oiled and maintained. The scent around the shrine reminded Hubert of Ferdinand’s beloved armor and weapons collection that he had scattered around their dorm room at the Adrestian Officer’s Academy. Emile gave the chain a gentle swing, “I’m sure this has seen the insides of many skulls.”

Hubert was incredibly relieved to see the flail returned to its hanger on the wall. This was as close as Hubert had seen his brother-in-law ever come to a smile. Hubert had really just been hoping to do some jumping jacks and maybe some crunches, not get a grisly tour of the Hrym family’s extensive weapon and torture device collection. Hubert was pretty sure some of these weapons were long outlawed.

“What’s that?” Hubert dared to ask of a strange round object suspended in a large fluid filled jar. The whole thing sat on a velvet cushion atop a pedestal. It was easily the size of a human head, but nearly perfectly spherical. The surface was yellowed and far from smooth, and it appeared to be supported in a bony ring. It looked more like a biological specimen than a weapon.

Emile walked to the case and set a hand upon the glass, “This is the relic of Lamine, the Rafail gem as my ancestor called it.”

“Have you shown Hanneman this?” asked Hubert curiously as he peered at the jar.

“No, he’d want to touch it I’m sure,” said Emile. “I trust you do not.”

“No,” said Hubert without any hesitation. Relics were strange religious objects usually housed in churches or in the homes of families that traced their lineages back to the ten elites. Lots of blood and gold had been spilled over these things through history. They included literally body parts of dead saints, and at their most extreme, large strange parts attributed to the goddess herself. People took them into battle for good luck and divine might, and as a child Hubert had always been mixed with horror and fascination of the story of Saint Serios adorning herself with the severed heads of fallen Nabateans to imbue herself with their power as she went to battle with Nemesis.

“What is it supposed to be?” asked Hubert as he looked closer at the sphere with a healthy sense of skepticism. In front of the pedestal hung an ornate necklace clearly designed to support the object. In an flash the sphere moved, and a bleached iris with a smooth reddish crest stone in place of a pupil rolled forward to stare at Hubert. He jumped back clutching his racing heart as Emile started to laugh.

“Does that answer your question?”

Hubert put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath and recovered from his shock. “Did that just move on its own?”

Emile shook his head with contempt, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just an old dragon part, it’s not alive.”

Hubert did feel ridiculous, but only because he wasn’t sure what to believe. Clearly dragons had once lived. Hubert had seen their mounted skeletons in the natural history museum in Enbarr. Those bones did not move. Relics were said to glow and twitch on their own, although Hubert had never seen one in person before. Emile’s explanation also failed to explain how the relic eyeball seemed fixed on Hubert now. Its gaze followed him as he nervously trailed Emile who was walking towards the rack of training weapons. Emile pulled free two blunt spears, “Shall we spar?”

Hubert nodded weakly as he accepted the weapon. Wars these days were fought with muskets, but at the end of the day when the bayonet went on, a gun was just a sort of spear. Hubert had been quite good with a spear about four years ago when he was finishing up his military service although it was not something he kept up with in law school or in his job after.

Emile, it seemed, had little better to pass his time with than sparring. He was excellent in form and force. “You’re a much livelier partner than Linhardt,” said Emile. It was as close to a compliment as he had ever given Hubert.

Hubert did not feel lively, he was pretty sure he was barely hanging on as he blocked and dodged. He got in no hits. Emile moved fluidly as if no matter where Hubert weaved to, Emile could easily change his flow and follow. His speed was also frightening, and Hubert soon found himself running out of room to back into. As he contemplated how he would possibly get around Emile, he felt Emile’s spear catching around his foot.

Hubert tripped back onto the stone floor with a punishing pain flaring up through his back. He didn’t have time to consider the bruise that was certainly going to form on his tail bone as the shaft of Emile’s spear knocked his head back into the stone and pressed against his throat. Pain seared in the base of his skull as his vision spun from the hit. Emile had taken a painful seat right on Hubert’s torso, crushing him while the spear shaft continued to compress his throat.

Desperately Hubert hooked his hands around the spear and pushed with all his might to attempt to throw Emile off. “So weak,” muttered Emile apathetically as he watched Hubert struggling beneath him. Hubert’s vision was blackening around the edges as he tried to choke out his yield. Emile sneered and eased the pressure he was applying as he finally let Hubert free.

Hubert lay on the ground in disbelief as his vision returned and he took a few irregular fluttering breaths. Pain seared through his throat as he inhaled and his eyes and nose were watering in shock and surprise. Emile offered a hand to pull Hubert up. However instead of helping Hubert to his feet, Emile wrenched him up and sent him straight into a tight hold. Hubert’s right arm was twisted painfully behind him while Emile’s free hand came up to curl through Hubert’s hair. Emile gave it a punishing pull as he kept Hubert’s head right where he wanted it. His elbow pinned Hubert’s left hand against the wall.

Emile chuckled softly as his strong body pressed into Hubert’s slim shaking frame. “I could crush you. I could snap your bones with my hands. It wouldn’t even be a challenge.” Hubert jerked in a desperate bid to get free as the pressure Emile was using to pin him slowly increased. It felt like his sharp cheek bone was going to snap under the stress as his face rubbed into the stone.

“Go ahead, struggle.” Emile’s breath was hot and moist in Hubert’s ear, “What shall I do with you now that you’re caught?” He gave a fleeting glance to the open iron maiden that was mere feet away, “Shall I toss you in there?” His grip tightened as his body pressed closer, “Or should I just do to you what you do to my sister at night?”

Hubert wasn’t proud that all he could manage was a soft teary whimper as a response to the suggestion. He swore he could feel Emile getting aroused at the sound. Emile’s laughter filled his ear and then suddenly it was over. Hubert was still hanging onto the wall to support himself as Emile casually picked up the training spears as if nothing amiss had just occurred.

Hubert dry heaved as his head swam with pain and his body trembled with the rush of adrenaline now coursing through him. He leaned against the wall and watched his assailant apprehensively.

Emile looked nonplussed. “I apologize, did I go farther than you were comfortable with?

Hubert rubbed his neck and found it incredibly sore. “Yes–”

“Good,” said Emile as he put the training weapons away. His indifferent stare washed over Hubert, “Now you’ve had a taste of what I’m capable of. Imagine what I will do to you if you continue to bother my Mercedes.”

Hubert didn’t have a coherent thought process as he bolted from the slaughterhouse turned training area. From the darkness behind him Emile’s laughter echoed out from the doorway. Hubert had to get out of the dim light and away from the smell of blood. He vomited as he reach the grass and he held onto the ground in an effort to get his vision to stop spinning. Hubert took a few deep breaths of the fresh air, and then started to limp painfully back towards the main house.

Mercedes found him in the bath. The water had grown ice cold as he shivered and stared at his knees. “Hubert,” whispered Mercedes as her hand touched his back. He tensed and let out a quiet gasp. “What happened to you?” She sounded horrified as her fingers lightly graced his bruised skin.

“I sparred with your brother,” he whispered. He felt like he might puke again as he said it. Hubert squeezed his eyes shut.

“Emile did this?” she sounded shocked. Hubert knew what he looked like. His throat was mottled and darkened where spear had been cutting off his airway. The back of his head bore a lump where it had cracked into the stone floor and he was vaguely aware that he probably had a concussion. His face was rubbed raw where it had been held against the rough wall, and there were other bruises dotting his body where Emile had whacked him while they sparred.

“Let’s get you out of this cold water. I think you should get into bed,” said Mercedes as she helped him rise.

Hubert nodded numbly as he let her lead him along. Whatever hurt he had over their fight was a distant memory as he let her take care of him. Things were a blur as she helped him to dress and got him under the covers. Mercedes wrapped herself around him like a shield, and was careful to avoid where his skin was purpled.

“I think Emile wants me gone,” whispered Hubert finally, though he was terrified to admit it.

Mercedes squeezed him, but said nothing. He expected her to tell him he was wrong. The fact that she did not made his stomach twist and turn.

***

It was Sunday, but there was no lovely game of prayers and bargaining. Hubert woke up to an empty house and a felt massive relief at the silence. He had told Mercedes no more church, and she hadn’t argued. Their fight was on hold for the time being. Hubert just wanted to go home and back to where things made sense. They could work through their complicated feelings in the safety of Enbarr.

Part of him was still grieving the loss of what he thought they shared, and another part was learning to accept the love that was still there. It broke him to know Mercedes had hidden her failed plan to run from their engagement, and he was blindsided by her accusations about his feelings towards Edelgard. He’d been ten the last time he’d had his heart broken, by the Insurrection, and this kind of pain wasn’t something he was accustomed to dealing with.

He was worried for their marriage. He had always been insecure about believing that Mercedes could love him, and this had brought that uncertainty up to the surface of his consciousness and now it refused to go away. Then there was the matter of his psychotic brother-in-law. Mercedes seemed to already know how violent Emile could be, and the fact that she hadn’t warned him disturbed him greatly. Hubert didn’t want to be here any more. He wished to be as far from Emile as possible.

After wallowing in his self pity long enough to grow embarrassed with himself, Hubert roused himself from bed. He changed into some casual clothes to bum around the property while he enjoyed the silence. He went and made himself coffee and embraced the solitude of the empty house. Linhardt’s fishing gear was gone. Dedue could be seen taking a nap in the garden. Shamir was enjoying a cigarette on the deck.

“Sorry to interrupt,” murmured Hubert as he joined her.

Shamir eyed him apathetically, “Do you smoke?”

“I quit,” muttered Hubert. Mercedes hated the habit. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could really use one.”

Shamir passed him one from her small metal case, “I roll them myself.” She watched him with a small smile as he struck a match and took a deep inhale. His throat was still healing but the familiar act was comforting in its own way. Shamir stretched and cracked her neck, “It’s a Dagda blend, the one taste of home I can still enjoy.”

“It’s nice,” said Hubert as he regarded her expert rolling skills. Coffee and cigarettes, the breakfast of whores as his mother used to scold him when he was still living at his parents house. He had moved out as soon as he could. He could not wait to hear the lovely commentary his mother would have if his marriage to Mercedes managed to end in divorce in less than a year.

They stood in silence watching the woods as one cigarette turned into two and Hubert felt relaxed for the first time in days. Some movement near the tea gazebo caught Hubert’s eye. A young woman with teal hair wearing only a thin night gown was wandering around, “There’s a girl in the garden.”

Shamir looked over and cursed, “Fucking hell.” She stamped out her cigarette and picked up her skirts as she descended the steps, “Byleth! Byleth what are you doing out here?”

Hubert followed at a distance and kept smoking as he watched the harangued maid trying to corner the young woman. She had to be a similar age to Hubert but she was not behaving like it. She seemed out of her mind.

“Shamir!” shouted the young woman enthusiastically. Hubert noted her hair color and wondered if this was the disappeared faith healer he’d heard about down in town. “Sothis wanted to come to the garden while no one is home.”

“Yes, yes fine,” grumbled Shamir as she took a tight hold of the woman’s arm. “But someone is home,” she hissed as she looked at Hubert.

“Hello!” said Byleth with a girlish charm as she waved at Hubert.

“Good morning,” said Hubert as he stared at her in confusion. “I’m Mr. von Vestra, who are you?”

“Mrs. Byleth von Hrym,” she exclaimed as she did the worst curtsy Hubert had ever witnessed. She giggled as she nearly fell over, “I am the lady of the house, I am Jeritza’s wife.” Sure enough she wore a wedding ring.

“Jeritza?” asked Hubert in confusion.

Shamir looked horrified this exchange was happening, “That’s Emile’s alias, he took a new name when he became heir of this place.”

Hubert stared at Byleth and then at Shamir, “This is his _wife_?”

“His first wife,” whispered Shamir.

“Byleth,” said Hubert patiently because it was clear she was unwell in the head, “Byleth where do you stay?”

The young woman happily extended her hand and pointed to a distant window at the top of the house, “I stay in heavens of Hrym House.” She began to frown, “I like to be outside, especially in summer but Jeritza won’t let me.” She stomped the ground, “It’s not fair! Sothis and I don’t like it up there all the time.”

“He keeps her in the attic?” demanded Hubert of Shamir. The maid nodded weakly.

“I need to get her back inside before they get home,” begged Shamir. “They’ll be back any minute.”

“No,” yelled Byleth as she sat down abruptly and began to throw a tantrum. “I will not go back up there! I will only go if Jeritza takes me himself!”

“Please, please Byleth,” Shamir pleaded as she pulled on the woman’s arm. Byleth swatted her away with a deceptively strong whack and continued to throw a fit. Dedue, woken up by the noise, had come over to investigate.

“What is going on here?” demanded Emile as the church goers returned from the service and came up the trail back to the house.

Hubert spun and nearly spilled his coffee, “I might ask you the same, _Jeritza_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rafail gem is an eye because I think it looks like a sclerotic ring (a feature of many non crocodilian reptiles, birds, and dinosaurs, and probably dragons right) and that seemed pretty creepy.


	7. The Two of Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A blindfolded woman sits with two swords across her. This card may indicate that harmony has been restored and disagreements settled. This is a card of truth and healing after pain.

Chaos descended on the group. Marianne dropped to her knees in prayer. Linhardt had been walking up towards the house with his fishing rod, took one look at what was happening, and promptly turned around. Maneula, who had once sworn never to return to Hrym House, was telling a disappointing Hanneman that maybe they ought to just go back to her place for lunch (even though everyone knew she couldn’t cook). Lysithea was loudly declaring ‘ _I told you this would happen_ ’ to Emile.

Bernadetta, wide eyed and silent, was clutching Mercedes’ arms around herself. Mercedes’ eyes were fixed on her husband and her brother who were presently sizing each other up. The unusual teal headed woman was hanging on Emile’s arm and calling him by a different name. _Jeritza_? That was the villain of a book Mercedes and Emile had read each other as children; it was the evil violent side of an otherwise mild mannered doctor. It could not have been an accident that he had taken such a name.

“How long have you been keeping this woman hostage?” Hubert asked as he stamped out his cigarette.

“She’s not a hostage,” said Emile. He was remaining remarkably calm despite the mood surrounding him.

“You keep her in the attic like one,” said Hubert. Mercedes had never seen Hubert so passionately enraged outside a courtroom.

“She is not well,” said Emile as he put a protective arm around the woman. “She had a serious accident, and she is not in her right mind. I will not turn her away.”

“She says she’s your wife, is that true?”

Bernadetta fainted into Mercedes’ arms. Mercedes looked up in a panic, “Enough!” Everyone looked at her with her poor sister-in-law in her arms. It was terrible that Bernadetta had fainted but it seemed to finally break the tension.

Hubert looked absolutely irate with Emile as he came to Mercedes side and helped to hoist Bernadetta up. “This is not over,” warned Hubert.

“Come on, let’s take her to the library,” urged Mercedes quietly as she tugged on Hubert’s shirt. She was terrified of Hubert and Emile fighting, mostly because she was certain Hubert would lose.

He laid Bernadetta on a lounge chair and looked at his wife in disbelief. The whole situation was insane. Mercedes folded her arms, “What the hell is going on here?”

“That woman, I think she’s the missing faith healer,” said Hubert in a whisper. “She told me she doesn’t get to come outside. Something is very wrong with her, but I don’t think she’s here of her own free will.”

Mercedes covered her mouth as she considered it. Hubert sighed, “If that marriage is documented, it’s bigamy, cut and dry.”

“I just can’t believe my brother would do that,” said Mercedes. She was having a great deal of trouble reconciling what was happening. How could her brother be keeping this poor woman here, and for what end? Mercedes refused to believe Emile was harboring some sort of sex slave in his attic. “It just doesn’t seem like him.”

“Doesn’t sound like him? He tried to kill me,” said Hubert indignantly. As if Mercedes needed reminding.

“I think if he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” whispered Mercedes. Hubert’s eye twitched as he stared at her. Mercedes took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself, “I need to tell you something.”

They left Bernadetta safe on the lounge and left the house to walk along the forested path. Mercedes didn’t want to discuss this anywhere near other people. She and Hubert strolled towards the town, but stopped midway. There was no one around to hear the extremely private conversation. 

“I don’t talk much about my childhood because it was not pleasant,” said Mercedes as she wondered how much detail was needed. She stared back at Hrym House, a mere speck now on the horizon, and knew that while it was not the Bartels Estate, it was more or less the same. All the great estates had their particular flare, but at the end of the day each noble house had an interchangeable list of dark offenses covered up and closely guarded.

“My father’s house, Martritz, fell into chaos over his death and the ensuing succession. My mother fled that power struggle with me still inside her, and ended up quickly remarrying Baron von Bartels, whose own wife had passed not too long before. He already had a host of older children, legitimate and not, living there at the estate,” explained Mercedes in a whisper. She had given Hubert an abridged version of this in her letters, but she generally avoided talking about it. “The thing about the Bartels that drove the Baron most crazy was their insignificance. They could not trace their lineage back to the saints, like Essar and Varley, or Aegir and Hservelg, nor could they claim ancestry from the ten elites like all those important nobles in Faerghus and Leicester.” Her words glinted with bitterness as she thought of all her friends and acquaintances back home in the Kingdom — Dominic, Galatea, Fraldarius, Gautier — and their constant talk of their storied ancestors.

Mercedes too was descended of one of those fabled heroes. “My mother is one of the few direct descendants of Lamine. Baron Bartels was obsessed with that fact; he saw her blood as more pure for it. His children hated my mother, the oldest of them was older than her, and they were nervous about their position, especially when my mother gave birth to Emile. They knew their father. The smart ones left in the night with whatever valuables they could carry. The idiot ones, they stuck around to torment my mother, me, and Emile.”

Mercedes looked at Hubert, wondering what was going on in his head. His face was as stony and neutral as ever. “As I grew up the Baron took an interest in me. It was little things at first, like how pretty I was, or how well I was growing, how charming and sweet I could be.” Mercedes noted a small change in Hubert’s strong facade, a flicker of pain crossed his face as he figured out where things were going, “And as I got older, closer to an age where I might be married, the comments were more frequent, with little touches here, little feels there. So my mother, my long suffering mother, got me out of that house. That’s why we went to the convent, changed our names, and lived as nuns.”

Hubert was poor at hugging and this embrace began as no exception as his long arms awkwardly wrapped around her. Yet she felt safe in his arms as she hugged him back. She breathed him in, a coffee and cigarette smell back like when they’d first met. It was not a pleasant aroma but a comforting one all the same. Mercedes looked up at him as she got ready to tell him the worst part, “Emile was left behind, because if we took the Baron’s heir, he would have hunted us down. That tortured my mother, having to choose one child over another. She was never the same after that.” Mercedes swallowed, “And we could not contact him, for fear of discovery. Six years after we ran, the Bartels died. It was all in the newspapers, even in Faerghus, because of how sensational it was.”

“I remember,” murmured Hubert. “It was something like twenty people dead and only a blood soaked child left. Enbarr was obsessed with it for a spell. People got hysterical with their explanations, demons, vampires, beasts.”

Mercedes shivered in his arms, “Yes. I never had much money but I bought myself the paper with the scandal splashed on the front page.” She shut her eyes as she recalled how many times she had read the headline over and over in disbelief. “When I returned to the convent I had received a letter. I occasionally got post to my fake name, from friends I made through church service, but this one was to _Mercedes von Bartels_.” She swallowed as she remembered the panic that had seized her upon looking at the Baron’s handwriting on the envelope, “It was mailed on the day of the fire, and sent by the Baron himself. He informed me that he knew where I was, and that I was of an age to marry, so he would be coming to fetch me so that I could come be his new wife.”

Hubert squeezed her close. Mercedes felt her face getting wet as her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, “I think Emile murdered his father to stop him from marrying me.”

“Have you ever asked?” asked Hubert. She could see him looking around the woods as if looking for anyone that might overhear their exchange.

Mercedes nodded and sobbed, “He admitted it, so calmly. He would not give me a reason, but that must have been it. He must have found out his father’s plan, and, and snapped.” Hubert was silent as he held her, and Mercedes was desperate for a reaction, “What are you thinking?”

Hubert cleared his throat and spoke quietly, “I’m thinking many things.” He glanced up at the house, “If your brother is as volatile as I think he may be, I think we’re in danger the longer we stay. Do you think the others in the house are at risk?”

“I don’t know,” murmured Merecedes. “When we took tea I set him off, only a little, but his whole demeanor changed with me. And his alias, Jeritza, that name cannot be an accident, that is from a book we used to read together. He was the alter ego, a monster, that could not be controlled by the end of the story.” Mercedes thought about the psychology classes she had taken in school, “Do you think it’s possible that he has some sort of dissociation happening?”

Hubert looked skeptical at the explanation, “I have no idea.”

He sighed and look down at her and for a moment it was as if their fight had never happened. Mercedes tightened her hold of him, “I’m sorry about the things we said to each other when we fought. Can we just accept that we can’t change the past and work instead on moving forward?”

Hubert nodded, “I will attempt to not talk about Lady Edelgard as much since it bothers you.”

“I appreciate that, and I promise to be more open about my past,” whispered Mercedes. He now knew all the most horrid parts and there was little point in hiding anything else.

He brushed her hair from her face, “I would like you to tell me things, about what would make you happy, and not just because your brother has threatened to kill me if you’re upset.”

Mercedes let out a surprised laugh as she dried her eyes and considered what would make her happy. “Well, to start, I think I would like to cut my hair short. I've always wanted to but I was afraid I wouldn't look feminine enough.”

Hubert smirked, “Then I will get the scissors.” He grew serious, “I’m deeply sorry about the lovers comment, that was me being hurt and angry, I shouldn’t have suggested you would jump into someone else’s bed.”

“Maybe we don’t each need one, maybe we just need one to join us on occasion,” said Mercedes as she made good on her promise to be more open. She looked up quickly for his reaction, “What I mean to say is that while at times I would like to be with a woman, physically, I’d like you to be there too.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow, “Maybe when Dorothea finally dumps Ferdinand we ought to see if she’d be interested.”

Mercedes laughed, while a joke the suggestion was extremely tempting, “You’re very bad at reading women, she’s clearly infatuated with him.” Mercedes leaned up to kiss Hubert. He kissed her back, deep and true, and she knew things were going to be alright between them. 

Hubert gave a fleeting look in the direction of town, “We could just go now and be in Enbarr by Friday. This place is bad for us.”

Mercedes shook her head and looked at the house, “We need to find out the truth of what’s happening before we leave. We owe that to Bernadetta, she may need our help.” Hubert groaned in agreement as they trudged back to Hrym House. By the time they got back to the library, it was deserted.

***

Bernadetta woke in the library to a cool cloth laid across her forehead. Her caregiver was sitting on the edge of the lounge chair she’d been laid on. “I just had the worst dream ever,” mumbled Bernadetta as she peeled the cloth from her eyes.

Emile was looking at her. Not a dream then. Bernadetta paled, “Uh, um.”

He raised a patient hand, “I believe I owe you an overdue explanation.”

Bernadetta nodded weakly as Emile helped her up. He led her to the stairs and they climbed in silence. They passed the second floor where most of the household slept, and up to the third floor to Emile’s room. Bernadetta found it plain and simple. It was peaceful, like a place of contemplation, with a large storm window that allowed one to see so much of the Hrym lands. Then there was another smaller set of stairs that led up to the attic. They went single file up the narrow passage and got to a door with a series of locks on it. Emile patiently undid them and Bernadetta was greeted by a surprisingly inviting bedroom.

Byleth was playing in the corner with some dolls and talking to someone unseen. Emile took a seat upon the bed and gestured for Bernadetta to join him. He looked incredibly remorseful as he watched Byleth, “She was not always this way.”

Bernadetta was at a loss as to what to say. “What was she like?”

Emile spared Bernadetta a grateful glance, “Vibrant. I was in a dark place when I met her, and she managed to cut through my troubles and lift me back into the light. She was raised quite unconventionally, on the road by her mercenary father.”

Emile pursed his lips, “She used to be a mercenary herself, called the Ashen Demon, but she discovered an incredible talent for healing. I know most people write it off as supernatural nonsense, but she was the real thing.” Byleth looked strong, despite her present state. He studied the woman, “She traded killing for fixing people, and she was amazing at it.”

“What happened to her?”

Emile sighed and stared at his hands, “I fell in love with her. I married her, and we were happy here. But her abilities started to attract attention. The local church condemned her, but people came from far and wide for healing. Eventually someone came who she couldn’t fix, and it backfired on her immensely. She was in a coma for days, and when she woke she was like this.” Emile looked to Byleth and called her over, “Byleth, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Byleth smiled and jumped up. She landed playfully in Emile’s lap. He looked uncomfortable as she kissed him and he gave Bernadetta an apologetic look, “Byleth this is Bernadetta, she has come to be a von Hrym too.”

“More von Hryms, how exciting,” said Byleth earnestly.

Emile patiently rubbed her back as if she were a child, “Yes, indeed. Why don’t you show Bernadetta what you can do?”

Byleth’s large eyes managed to look even bigger as she eagerly took Bernadetta’s hands in her own. She then shut those great big blue eyes and began to roll her head. Bernadetta stared in shock at the display. Byleth’s face grew serious as her eyes opened and locked into a stare with Bernadetta’s. “Your parents were terrible people. You’re much better off here with us.”

“What do you know about my parents?” Bernadetta found her voice was extra small and scared.

“I know about the chair,” said Byleth as she leaned in. No one knew about the chair, how did she? Bernadetta’s heart began to race. Byleth paused and looked beyond Bernadetta as if at someone behind her, “Sothis! I know, fine, fine I’ll tell her.”

“Tell me what?” asked Bernadetta. Sothis, the goddess?

Byleth squeezed Bernadetta’s hands, “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Sothis wants to heal you.”

Before Bernadetta could ask what that meant, she felt a warm wave going through her body that could only be described as divine. It burned through her like a cleansing fire from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Bernadetta gasped and stared, “What did you just do?”

“I took away the things you’re afraid of,” smiled Byleth. “Gone, poof. No more fear!”

Bernadetta was confused as she took her hands back. Byleth was nodding in a pleased way, “See! Think of the chair.”

The chair, the scariest thing in Bernadetta’s childhood, was not so scary now. Bernadetta blinked in disbelief as she pictured it. It was like those things had happened to another person, and no longer filled her with anxiety and terror. “I’m not afraid of it.”

Byleth surprised her by kissing her on each cheek, “You’re welcome!”

“Thank you Byleth, now, I think Bernadetta and I need to discuss some more matters,” said Emile.

Byleth pouted, “Do you promise to come back to play when you’re done?”

“Yes, of course,” said Emile. With that Byleth happily hopped off him and back to her dolls to resume her game.

Emile exhaled slowly and rose. He gestured for Bernadetta to follow him. He carefully redid all the locks on the door before they descended back to his bedroom. “Byleth is very unwell. She has no family, and she would not survive out in the world on her own. She would end up in an asylum or worse. I keep her here to protect her, but as you can surmise she’s not really able to be a wife to me. She’s almost like a child really.” There was a clear pain in his voice as he said it.

Bernadetta nodded, still in shock from the loss of her fears. She felt lighter, and free. It was amazing. She no longer cowered as she looked on Emile, and she felt bold enough to speak her mind, “So why take me as a wife?”

Emile looked down at her and grimaced, “I intend to reestablish the von Hrym family, so I married you to work towards that goal. I thought I might be able to be a proper husband to you, but when faced with it, I still feel too much loyalty to Byleth to give you the love and attention you deserve. It feels as if I am committing adultery even though my interactions with Byleth are far from romantic these days.”

Bernadetta nodded in understanding, “So what happens now? You clearly do not wish to be my husband, and I would prefer to not while away my life as a spinster in all but name.”

Emile looked at the window and pointed at the lands, “This is my inheritance, and I have no one to share it with. If it is agreeable to you, I’d like you to stay as my wife and enjoy this vast place with me. I am not sure I can ever love you romantically, but I will not prevent you from seeking love from others. In fact, I encourage you do so.”

Bernadetta stared out at the massive landscape, “This is a lot to consider.” She folded her arms and frowned, “I would like to talk over my options with the von Vestras, if you do not mind. I will try to have an answer for you soon.”

Emile nodded and bowed, “I apologize for having wronged you.”

“I was deeply hurt when you ignored me, but now things make a great deal more sense,” whispered Bernadetta. She smiled, “I think you and I are similar in a way. You act very aloof and distant, but perhaps that’s just a way to avoid to talking to people.”

“There may be some truth to that,” said Emile. “Talking to people is intolerable.”

Bernadetta giggled and felt at ease around Emile for the first time ever. “Well perhaps this can be our first little secret.” Emile said nothing but he looked as if he might agree. Bernadetta excused herself and returned to the second floor where she ran into a rather panic stricken Mercedes and Hubert.

Bernadetta squeaked in surprise as the couple embraced her. “We couldn’t find you in the library!” said Mercedes.

“We assumed the worst,” said Hubert.

“I’m fine!” Bernadetta appreciated their misplaced concern, “I was just talking with Emile.”

The hug only got more frantic and tight. “Did he hurt you?” Hubert sounded like he was ready to go fight for her honor.

“What? No,” said Bernadetta as they crushed her. “He introduced me to Byleth and explained everything. It’s going to be fine!”

“What!” Both Mercedes and Hubert spoke in unison and in total shock.

Bernadetta convinced them to free her and chat over tea like normal people instead of in a ridiculous huddled mass like they seemed to want. The house was peaceful and quiet compared to earlier. Hanneman had departed for the village, the servants resumed their day off activities, and Lysithea could be heard calling after Marianne who had apparently run off in distress. They took their tea in the garden.

“Emile explained that he keeps Byleth here because she doesn’t have anywhere to go,” said Bernadetta. “Her room was quite nice, and he is very gentle with her. He feels awful about the whole thing.”

“You didn’t see any chains or straight jackets?” Hubert’s eyes were keen with suspicion.

“No,” said Bernadetta. “No there were locks on the door but the room was normal. She was playing with dolls when we got up there.”

“And you said she healed you?” Mercedes looked like her faith was being challenged.

Bernadetta shrugged, “Yes it’s like all my fears are just gone, dulled away and no longer ruling my life. It’s wonderful, to be honest.”

Mercedes and Hubert were exchanging concerned looks. Hubert cleared his throat, “Well if you want me to draw up the annulment—”

“No,” said Bernadetta quickly. “I, I think I’m going to stay.”

“Here? Even though he’s committing bigamy?” Hubert was aghast.

Bernadetta nodded and Mercedes looked conflicted, “And Emile was _nice_ to you? He didn’t worry you at all?”

Frankly nothing was really worrying Bernadetta anymore as she sipped her tea. “He told me I was free to do as I please. It’s actually quite empowering.”

“Don’t you want to come to Enbarr with us?” Hubert seemed uncharacteristically desperate for her to come.

Bernadetta felt embarrassed that they seemed to want her to come so badly. “Of course I still want to visit! But now I’m not sure I want to permanently go.” She took both their hands in hers, “I really enjoy being around you two. You have been my true friends here, and I am so happy we’ve been brought together as family.” She released them and resumed drinking her tea. “I mean I might have had a silly fantasy about running off with you both, but I don’t even know how that would work. No, I think I’m going to stay here as Emile’s wife but I suppose I’ll work on finding myself a suitable lover to keep.”

It was hard to pick who looked more shocked as Mercedes mouth hung open and Hubert squinted at Bernadetta. Bernadetta blushed, “What! I deserve one! I shouldn’t have to stay a virgin forever because I’ve married a man who can’t bring himself to sleep with me.”

“Of course,” said Hubert after he had recovered from his shock. Mercedes was drinking her tea to avoid talking.

“Emile told me I was welcome to, and I’m inclined to do so,” announced Bernadetta as she thought about how horrified her parents would be. However, instead of fear she only felt satisfaction and liberation.

Lysithea approached the table looking put off, “Has anyone seen Marianne?” The young woman seemed truly worried. 

“No,” snapped Bernadetta. She was furious with the two ladies who clearly from their reactions knew all about Byleth. “You should be ashamed! You professed to be my friend, but not once did you think to mention Emile’s wife?”

Lysithea frowned, “Is this a joke? I have to find Marianne.”

“Then go look for her yourself, I am not interested in helping you with anything,” announced Bernadetta as she swiveled in her seat to face away from the young woman. Lysithea gasped at Bernadetta’s audacity, but Bernadetta found she did not care in the slightest. Having no fear was suiting her quite well.

***

Hubert was sitting up in bed with his arms folded as Mercedes got into her nightgown. They had just had the most odd dinner ever. Byleth, no longer a secret, was invited to join them. Her table manners were understandably nonexistent. Emile patiently cut her food and helped to feed her. He even carried on a bizarre conversation with her imaginary friend as mediated by Byleth. Hanneman, wisely, was still down in town. Marianne was hiding out somewhere likely in distress over the events of the afternoon, and Lysithea was looking upset about not being able to locate her. Bernadetta was ignoring Lysithea though to sit with Emile and talking kindly with Byleth. Hubert and Mercedes sat in their normal chairs in silence as they took the whole strange scene in.

Now as they got ready to sleep, Hubert sat wrapping his head around the fact that Emile had murdered the von Bartels at the tender age of thirteen. They sounded like the worst sort of people but to be killed en masse for the sins of their patriarch seemed extreme. Hubert’s first instinct was to go to the authorities, but he had no proof and he doubted Emile would freely confess. Further, what was Emile planning for Hubert for having actually married Mercedes? Emile had gotten away with murder as a child, what was to stop him from doing it again now that he was grown? As he had said to Hubert, it wouldn’t even be difficult to kill him. Hubert shuddered at the memory of their sparring session; he planned to never be alone with Emile again.

Hubert looked up as he heard a snipping; Mercedes was chopping off her hair. She stared at herself in the mirror and looked both relieved and horrified, “I’ve done a rather crooked job haven’t I?”

Hubert got of bed and took the scissors from her, “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back if you don’t care for the cut.”

Mercedes looked at him through the mirror as he evened her hair out at her chin. “What do you think?”

Hubert set the scissors aside and leaned his head on her shoulder as he looked at her reflection, “I think I’m seeing my wife for the first time as she wants to be seen, and I like it.”

Her smile was small and uncertain as she gently caressed the side of his face where it was still at little discolored from where her brother had thrashed him. She looked ashamed as she touched the mark, “I’m sorry this trip is turning into such a miserable time.”

“I think we need to plan on leaving soon,” said Hubert. He’d already begun to pack his things into his suitcase.

Mercedes followed him into their bed as the got comfortable against each other. “I need to talk to Emile before we go, I need to understand some things.”

“I’ll go into town tomorrow to inquire about the train schedule, we’ll pack up quietly, we can get out of here when you’ve had your chat,” said Hubert, though he was ready to leave immediately. “We can try to convince Bernadetta to come one last time, but if she wishes to stay, I don’t think we should argue. She seems confident for the first time since we’ve met her.”

“She did seem very, forward,” said Mercedes. She exchanged a glance with Hubert and giggled softly, “She seems hell bent on finding a lover.”

“It’s only fair I suppose,” said Hubert as he turned off the lights. He chuckled, “It really puts our marital problems into perspective.”

Mercedes groaned as she hugged him close. “It sounds like you’re back to normal.”

“A new normal,” whispered Hubert as he ran his fingers through her short hair and then kissed her good night.

***

Manuela was no great cook. She was a ridiculous woman, and keen to argue. Yet she made Hanneman feel alive for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t ever given much consideration to love, focusing instead on his work, but Manuela was like a passionate tornado. She had blown into him, quite literally in the town square, and accused him of bumping into her on purpose. As he helped her pick up all her scattered medicines and bandages they got to talking.

“You’re a physician?” asked Hanneman in disbelief. In retrospect he had sounded quite rude but she did not look like a doctor in her get up. She looked like a singer at the kind of clubs Hanneman wouldn’t be caught dead going into.

“You better believe it buddy,” she snapped. “And what are you? Some sort of, uh,” her insult fell flat as she tried to find something mean to compare him to.

“I’m a professor of the classics at The University of Enbarr,” said Hanneman as he extended his hand, “Dr. von Essar.”

“Oh a doctor of philosophy,” she scoffed with contempt. “Well I’m Dr. Casagranda, a real doctor bud.”

“I’m a real doctor,” protested Hanneman as he helped her to her feet. “I’ve written three volumes on ancient Nabatea!”

“Oh please doc, tell me all about it,” she said as she rolled her eyes. She looked him up and down with contempt, “Please, please Professor Nobleman, give this lowly commoner a lecture.”

Hanneman sputtered, “I don’t know what I’ve done to cause you offense.”

She huffed off leaving him in disbelief. Naturally the next day he had shown up at her clinic with flowers and an apology, “I should not have made the assumption you could not be a doctor, please take my sincerest apologies.”

Manuela looked at the flowers and begrudgingly invited him in, “After I cooled down I was a little embarrassed by what I said too.”

They chatted about what had brought them here, for Hanneman it was the archives, although he'd recently finished transcribing something and he didn't care to be down in the dark so much. For Manuela she had come here following retirement from a successful singing career in Enbarr. She had traveled through Hrym while on tour and fallen in love with the climate. “You really never heard of the divine songstress?”

“No I’m afraid I often have my nose too deeply buried in a book to appreciate the opera,” said Hanneman. She sang him a tune and was indeed divine. Her smile was charming, and her teasing nature was charismatic. Hanneman was hooked.

“Your husband is a very lucky man,” said Hanneman as they finished tea.

“ _Pfft_ , I’m not married,” said Manuela. “I’m the victim of my own bad taste.”

“You’re so enchanting, I’m amazed you haven’t had better luck,” said Hanneman.

“Oh yeah, maybe if you weren’t so judgmental you’d have better luck too!”

They stared at each other for a few moments and then laughed. After that Hanneman took to calling on her regularly, they attended church together, and today, after getting out of whatever drama was gripping his hosts, they shared a most amazing lunch and an unexpectedly intimate afternoon. Hanneman had never felt this strongly towards anyone, not since his youth, and he was of half a mind to take a sabbatical and stay in Hrym through the fall just for Manuela.

As he strolled back to Hrym House, Hanneman appreciated the sunset. He reprimanded himself for idling away so much time at Manuela’s. She had offered for him to stay the night rather than go home, but he was afraid that would appear improper. She had insisted on loaning him her lantern and fretted over his decision to walk home, but the path was not too complicated. The crickets were loud and fireflies were dotting the path ahead. It was a wonderful summer night for a walk.

Hanneman had a light spring in his step as he thought about how Manuela might react if he just stayed in Hrym. She was a fiery woman, and she’d probably pretend to be mad, but he had a feeling she’d be pleased. He got the sense men hadn’t appreciated her like she deserved. He wanted to shower her with the lifetime of love he’d stored up. He wondered if she might like to vacation in Morfis with him. He was going there soon to help a colleague with some newly discovered hieroglyphs, and perhaps Maneula might enjoy a nice romantic stroll near the pyramids.

It was a long walk from the town to Hrym House, and it became pitch black outside his lamp’s radius of light. Hanneman felt a little uneasy and picked up his pace. It was a waning moon, and only a thin sliver of light was visible tonight above him. The stars were pleasant though, and in this remote place he could see the constellations in crisp detail. As a boy he’d fallen in love with the stories of what the ancients said about the various shapes they saw in the night sky. It was astronomy that had led him to study classic cultures like the Agarthans and Nabateans in the first place.

Hanneman whistled the song Manuela had been singing him earlier to make himself feel better. He was so absorbed that he almost missed the strange sound of crying coming from the darkness. “Hello? Is someone there?” The crickets had ceased their chirping, and the fireflies had all gone to bed for the night.

The sobbing got harder as Hanneman wandered towards the edge of the road. It had a familiar feel to it but Hanneman could hardly believe Marianne would be out in the middle of the woods. Yet it sounded so much like her, “Ms. von Edmund, is that you?”

Hanneman though he might have seen a glimpse of Marianne's light blue hair for a split second before he saw something he didn’t quite understand. He dropped his lantern in shock and the candle light snuffed out in the fall. Hanneman dropped to his knees to pick it up as something big sailed over him. Hanneman’s stomach dropped as he abandoned the lantern and broke into a run.

At some point he lost his monocle but that was hardly helping him see in the extremely dim light. He could just make out the lights of Hrym House in the distance as he picked up speed. Something was snarling behind him, and he could hear feet padding closer at an alarming pace. He was a man of reason, of science, but what he had seen defied all of that. He was not one for the supernatural or occult, but there was most certainly a demonic beast on his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manuela ain't the only one who finds Hanneman to be a tasty SNACK *tiger noises*
> 
> Also dear 12 people reading this, thank you, 'cause going from writing a rom com to horror is a huge hit to that instant-gratification meter of page views and kudos haha! Whatever, I like horror so I'm just going to keep on doing what I'm doing. Hopefully you like it too.


	8. The Three of Cups, Reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three young maidens dance in a circle with cups raised over their heads. When reversed, the card can indicate sensual pleasure, feasting, drinking, and general over indulgences. It may also signify a relationship between three people is unsustainable.

Lysithea took a deep breath as she looked at Marianne in the dim light of the morning just before dawn. Marianne was sprawled out naked on the forest floor covered in dirt and scratches. There was blood smeared on her face and hands and the poor girl almost looked pregnant she had so thoroughly gorged herself the night before. Marianne stirred as Lysithea poked her with a stick, “You had quite the night.”

Marianne looked at her hands in horror and sobbed, “I’m going to be sick.” She barely covered her mouth before beginning to vomit up what could only be chunks of Dr. von Essar.

Lysithea grimaced and tossed a rough blanket from the stables over Marianne. “I’ll take care of the body. Go clean yourself up before anyone wakes up.”

Marianne nodded as she wiped her mouth. Lysithea now had the unenviable task of hiding Hanneman. “Thank you for transcribing the book of Lamine,” she said to him as she grunted and groaned while pulling his weight. “It’s been most useful.” She winced as he got caught on some roots and nearly lost his foot as she pulled with all her might. “Please don’t haunt me, this is not my fault!”

She dragged him off the road and down an embankment. It was hard work for her, but it was necessary to protect Marianne. The poor young woman hadn’t had an incident in years but yesterday she had run off without drinking her daily potion. Lysithea had tried to find her, but at sunset Lysithea had wisely given up or it would be her spattered in the dirt and not Hanneman.

“What a fucking way to start a Monday,” grumbled Lysithea as she heaved the body behind a fallen tree. She could cut him up and scatter him but that was a huge time commitment, and if anyone found a spare part it would only bring more scrutiny to how he died. She instead covered him in leaves so he wouldn’t be seen from the road, and hoped some animals came by for a snack to make it look like he’d been set upon by something more natural. His absence would surely be noted soon, and she expected all hell was going to break loose when he was finally found. Lysithea was just going to have to cast her body spell and hope it worked because there was a good chance her pawns were going to leave soon, especially if they learned there was a beast on the prowl.

Marianne was a problem, but she was Lysithea’s problem. The circumstances in which they met were highly unlikely, but their lives had followed unusual paths. Lysithea had been thirteen when she left Hrym House following the brutal murders of Cornelia and Volkhard. She hadn’t liked them that much, but they were useful and she didn’t appreciate the way Jeritza had just offed them without warning one evening at dinner. She knew that it would be her next if she stuck around, so she left. She took her show on the road as it were and sought out other witches to learn from. This had landed her in the unglamorous life of a freak show fortune teller.

The group she finally fell in with on a regular basis, the Golden Deer, wasn’t so bad for being a bunch of reject road warriors. There was Claude, the devilishly charming acrobat and, depending on the crowd, belly dancer, Leonie the daring mercenary that could shoot an apple off someone’s head with a blindfold on, Raphael, the strong man who would eat just about anything for an audience, Ignatz the talented caricature artist, and their ring leader, charismatic Lorenz. He told everyone he was a runaway noble from a lost house but Lysithea had done his cards and he was just a normal boy who ran away from home with dreams of being important.

The Golden Deer had gone to a big gathering of sideshows and carnival troupes in Derdriu one summer, and that was when Marianne had crashed into their lives. She was being kept in a cage by a particularly nasty band of carnies. They billed her as the Bloody Beast of Fodlan’s Locket, a godly maiden bearing the curse of Maurice. After sunset she was said to turn into a man eating beast that had already killed her share of nice ladies in the lands of Goneril and Edmund. All Lysithea saw was a scared young woman being kept nude and in chains.

Lysithea had been appalled; most side shows were tasteless but this was especially base. She had promptly purchased six tickets so the group could get to the bottom of things. They were shocked that night when Marianne did, in fact, turn into a demonic beast before the eager crowd. The Golden Deer had left with a bad taste in their mouths and dreams of a rescue. So they did that. They kidnapped Marianne and worked on figuring out how to fix her.

They learned her condition was not contagious after she bit Ignatz. He wasn’t using his left hand much anyway so it was no great loss. They learned that Raphael could knock her out with a punch in a pinch, but everyone agreed that was not a good long term solution. Marianne begged them to put her out of her misery, and once or twice had attempted to dive in front of Leonie’s arrows while Pinelli was shooting blind folded. Lorenz thought she was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and attempted to cure her with true love’s kiss. He was lucky he didn’t lose his lips. Claude attempted to teach her meditation to soothe her soul, but her blood compelled her to transform.

Lysithea settled on a sort of fix: a potion kept Marianne calm and sedated all night long. Marianne still chose to sleep in a cage just in case, but she was no longer turning into a blood thirsty demonic beast. At most, she’d transform into a peaceful sleeping beast, but usually she stayed human. It was an imperfect fix though because Lysithea had to make the potion all the time, and Lysithea wasn’t going to be around forever to make it. Lysithea had been dying for years. The Golden Deer never gave up or surrendered, so they were going to fight to find a way to fix Marianne and maybe even fix Lysithea while they were at it.

Lysithea looked at herself after hiding Hanneman and saw how dirty she was. She sighed and knew this was going to draw some stares in the village, but she needed to call in the reinforcements. The Golden Deer had followed Lysithea to Hrym, following rumors about by Jeritza’s mysterious wife and her healing abilities. Lysithea had been nervous to come home but Emile, not Jeritza, welcomed her back. Byleth had found a way to keep Jeritza at bay. For the first time in years, Lysithea had a pang of hope within her. Byleth laid her hands on Marianne first in an attempt to lift her curse, and promptly collapsed onto the ground. It was a total mess but Lysithea was grateful her troupe of friends had stuck around. They still went on the road for shows sometimes, but Hrym became home.

Down in town, the Golden Deer adapted to their new roles with gusto. They cobbled together funds to buy a local inn and renamed it _The Gilded Stag_. Lorenz ran the hospitality side while Raphael managed its kitchen, and Leonie was the bar tender. Despite her job, she still managed to have legendary number of unpaid tabs at the other pubs in town. Claude handled entertainment, although his most frequently booked act was himself. Ignatz had even opened a newspaper stand that imported in all the best publications from Enbarr, Fhirdiad, Derdriu, and beyond. He still painted to pass the time. All of them lived together there in that inn while Lysithea kept Marianne safe and isolated from potential victims up in Hrym House.

Lysithea spared an annoyed wave for Ignatz at his newsstand, and then opened the door to the Stag in a huff. She was greeted warmly by Raphael, “Lys! You want bacon?”

“I need a drink,” she declared as she sat at the bar.

Leonie looked her up and down and then nodded at Raphael, “Do a full breakfast plate, and I’ll make you one Bloody Mary.”

“Perfect,” grunted Lysithea as she buried her head in her arms.

“Lysithea, so nice to see you!” said Lorenz as he breezed in. He froze, “You are a wreck!”

“Marianne had an accident,” said Lysithea reluctantly between long sips of her Bloody Mary. Leonie silently rubbed away the count for ‘days since last incident’ and reset it to zero.

“Oh no is she alright?”

“Sure, you should see the other guy,” said Lysithea. She gestured to the muck on her front and then drew a line across her neck.

“Oh,” said Lorenz quietly. “How can we assist you?”

Lysithea finished her drink in an large gulp. “I need to get the band back together.”

Claude appeared from out of nowhere clapping, “Have no fear, the deer are here. What are you thinking?”

“Carnival, Hrym House grounds, on the new moon,” ordered Lysithea.

“That’s short notice,” said Lorenz. It was mere days away.

Claude slapped him on the back with glee, “If anyone can do it, it’s us.”

Lysithea hoped that was true. Nothing got people into a strange mood like a carnival, and if her spell didn’t happen on the new moon, her narrow window of opportunity would close. There were alternatives but she wasn’t sure that she had enough time left to spare. There was still a chance she was already too late, but Lysithea refused to dwell on that possibility. “Get the word out, I want everyone in town there, call in other troupes if you need to, this has to be _the_ event of the summer. Emotions must run high.”

The emotions of others: fear, lust, hatred, love, helped to power her spells. She had thought that playing with the emotions of the people of Hrym House would be enough. She had Jeritza’s burning hate for Hubert, that was still present, but her other sources like Bernadetta’s fear of well, everything, and Mercedes fear of having her secrets found out, had faded away and left Lysithea under-powered. She no longer had Hanneman’s guilt over his sister to draw from, and the dead servants could give her nothing. She had to get some more people there, and she might as well get as many as possible.

***

Hubert was greeted on his way out of the house that afternoon by a very strange man in a revealing dancing outfit helping to set up a tent on the yard. Hubert paused and backed up, “What is going on here?”

“A carnival good sir,” said their purple haired ring leader as he took off his top hat and dropped into a dramatic bow. “I am Lorenz Hellmen Gloucester, lost scion of the house of Red Roses.”

Hubert blinked in disbelief, “A carnival, _when_?”

Lorenz pointed to the sky, “Why a new moon carnival! It is the best night for one.”

“It’s best when it’s darkest out,” said Hubert to clarify the ridiculous point. That seemed like the worst time of the month to hold a carnival, especially here.

Lorenz and the dancer nodded enthusiastically. Hubert scowled and continued toward town. The path looked a little disturbed but Hubert soon learned why as cart after cart of strange people began to pass him. The carnival really was coming, and in force.

When he arrived he found the newspaper stand, the one that posted the train times, was closed. Hubert sighed and looked around. He waved to Manuela, “Have you heard there’s a carnival coming to town?”

Manuela groaned, “Is that thing back already? I swear every year they just show up without so much as a moment’s notice. Then my clinic’s packed the next day with people that injured themselves falling from the rides, eating questionable fried food, drinking love potions some witch has cooked up—”

“Love potions,” repeated Hubert in a dry tone.

Manuela nodded and rolled her eyes, “Rubes in this town will fall for just about anything.”

Hubert scoffed and sighed at the thought of someone believing in a love potion. Manuela smirked, “Well maybe Hanneman will win me a prize or something.”

“I’ll let him know you expect a big teddy bear when I see him,” said Hubert as he looked back in the direction of Hyrm House.

“Good, tell him it’s a date,” said Manuela with a wink as she resumed running her errands.

Hubert walked back towards the house and itched for news from Enbarr or a list of train times. He expected Mercedes would want to stay though, so Hubert spent his two mile walk mentally preparing for the possibility of yet another week at Hrym House.

Mercedes was watching the tents taking over the massive lawn from the porch of Hrym House. “When’s the train?”

“I don’t know, the times weren’t posted and the newsstand was closed,” grumbled Hubert as he stood beside her.

Bernadetta, in only a robe and her nightgown, joined them with her mug of tea. “What’s going on?”

Hubert tried not to stare; Bernadetta was usually one to only leave her room fully dressed and extra covered up. It was strange to see her acting so free. “There’s going to be a carnival.”

“Sounds fun,” mused Bernadetta. “Shall we go together?”

“What choice do we have?” said Mercedes. Hubert noted her gloom, but Bernadetta seemed nonplussed as she nodded happily and returned into the house.

“She’s acting _strange_ ,” said Hubert in a careful whisper.

“Or maybe she’s acting normal, and that’s what’s unusual,” whispered Mercedes back with a grave look in her blue eyes.

“When will you talk with Emile?”

Mercedes bit her lip, “He said he didn’t have time now until after the carnival. He’s helping to set up the grounds.”

“Perfect,” said Hubert as he drummed his fingers on the railing.

***

The Golden Deer delivered and succeeded in netting two other troupes that were in nearby lands and willing to move on short notice for a random mid week carnival: The Ashen Wolves and The Blessed Knights. Together the three troupes were enough to put on a proper show. People were coming from far and wide at the chance to enjoy the merriment. Lysithea was grateful for the turn out, the more people the better.

The Knights were the bigger act and came with the full force of a proper fair. The production was the brainchild of Catherine, a tough talking, hard drinking, punch throwing ring leader that was more gangster than entertainer. Her large crew ran a tight ship and they were always good for creating a family friendly atmosphere with reasonably fair carnival games and moderately safe rides. They had a series of well known performers to boot. Their star Alois, the bearded lady, was really just a mustached man that put on dress and told bad jokes. Gilbert, the lion tamer, was threatening to walk out as usual. Father-daughter act Seteth, tattooed head to toe in scales, and Flayn were known for their fire breathing. Cyril, their long-suffering stage manager, was ever running around trying to get people in place or out of the way. The Blessed Knights weren’t Lysithea’s first choice, but they were always easy to recruit for a last-minute show.

The Wolves were much smaller and decidedly not family friendly. They were always on the fringe of respectable shows, and were difficult to catch so Lysithea was extra impressed that Claude had managed to pull them out of whatever gutter they’d surely been in. Balthus, their monstrously large opening act wore no shirt and preferred chaps and chains instead. He really set the tone for what one would be in for if they dared to enter the Wolf Den. Constance and Hapi were a double act of horse-riding acrobats that liked to jump through fire and spin dangerously in suspended silks in very little clothing. They’d break for Ashe, a recent addition, who was a sweet natured escape artist. Then there was the main act, pretty boy Yuri and his ‘magic’ act. Stage magic was cheap tricks and slights of hand, Lysithea would be doing real magic tonight.

Lysithea pulled her old fortune teller’s garb from beneath her bed. She held it up and sighed as she looked at the mockery of her craft. However, people wanted mysticism and intrigue, not a terminally ill young woman that still looked like a child. She had all her old supplies and would hopefully net a modest number of young couples to help fill her crystal ball with their emotions.

Heartbreak was a potent source of magic. Yet Lysithea’s attempts at splitting Hubert and Mercedes apart had merely made them more strongly stuck together. It was terribly annoying. Love was a dangerous emotion to try to use in magic like this because it tended to defend itself. Heartbreak just wanted to be taken away and replaced with something nice. Love, love wanted to hold on with everything it had. Lysithea would have to tread carefully with the couple because she was also dealing with Jeritza’s love for Mercedes. It was all a tangled web and Lysithea’s change in plan was risky at best and downright dangerous at worst. However her life was on the line, and she was backing into a corner, so she was going to gamble with her luck tonight.

***

Growing up, Mercedes had never been to a proper Adrestian Carnival. They were usually held in this time of year, Blue Sea Moon, to celebrate the rebirth of the goddess. The thought was that if people behaved excessively and badly, the goddess might come back to get them in line. It never worked, but it was such a fun time that everyone kept doing it. Generally there were suitable activities for children, but this was definitely a holiday for adults as the night got late.

In Faerghus, carnivals were very different affairs. The Kingdom and Church condemned the grotesque extravagance of the southern territories, and instead focused on giving up something dear in the name of the goddess. It was thought sacrifice and prayer would bring her back. Instead of a full blown carnival, there was usually a nice little feast for St. Cethleann, maybe a special cake and some fun clean games, and then prayer. So much prayer. Mercedes remembered feeling pride in her strong faith when she would pick what she was giving up until Wyvern Moon. One year she had given up ghost stories, it was terrible, and her sacrifice did nothing to get the goddess to return.

In south Fodlan, people liked to paint their faces and wear masks to Carnival. It was meant to hide their shame when their returned to their normal lives following the festivities. Linhardt came up from the basement with a great big box of Hrym family carnival accessories. There were masks, gremory boas, little belts adorned with golden skulls, ornate robes that were far too hot for this weather, tiaras, and all manner of strange costumes. Emile chose a plain white mask that covered his forehead and came down with little points above his cheeks. The eyes of the mask were lined with blood red paint that made his blue eyes look particularly striking.

Bernadetta, never one to miss a chance to craft, had hurried to make herself a vibrant green one adorned with fresh flowers Lysithea had given her from her garden as a peace offering. Bernadetta looked like some sort of forest fairy as she adjusted it. She also made one in teal for Byleth, but instead of plants she had chosen little bright mother of pearl shells the two women had happily gathered on the shores of the river. Byleth had braided white and red ribbons into her wild hair and was clearly elated to be a part of the festivities.

Hubert had grabbed a weird beaked black mask he’d found in the box, and Mercedes was going with a sheer black veil affixed to a dark hat that made her look like a widow. She looked especially ghostly as she modeled it for him. Hubert lifted the veil up and quickly kissed her when no one was looking before putting on his own mask. He laughed at their reflections in the mirror, “We look like the villains in your books.”

Mercedes pinched him, “Villains! No they’re the protagonists.”

“They can be one in the same,” said Hubert as he offered his arm. He did look especially spooky in his mask and she felt a strange rush of attraction. Mercedes’ love of the morbid and macabre had always alarmed and scared Annette, but Hubert embraced the aesthetic fully. They didn’t prowl around graveyards together at night, but when the two were dressed up to go out in Enbarr they looked as if they might.

Marianne was not feeling well and declined to join them. Lysithea was already out on the grounds working. Hubert glanced around the foyer taking stock of who was present, “Has anyone seen Hanneman?” He had not been at dinner the night before, but it was normal enough for him to miss meals and stay far too long down in the archives. Especially given the chaos on the property it was not surprising. Everyone had been scarce.

“I believe he’s already with Manuela,” said Emile. He had Bernadetta and Byleth on each arm as he led the way to the carnival. With the masks on Mercedes couldn’t give Hubert a look to communicate how she felt about how her brother was behaving.

It was sweet that Bernadetta was taking to Byelth, but the whole arrangement was rotten. Byleth should not have been hidden away like a shameful secret, and Emile should have never taken a second wife. Yet Bernadetta seemed very content with the state of things; she got to leave her parents’ grips as a wife to a man who did not want to do all the things she had been afraid of. She had far more control over things here in Hrym than if she had been married off to a more conventional groom. She was excited by this development rather than horrified. Mercedes was deeply concerned this trio was dancing towards a danger.

However, her concerns took a back seat to the sight of the bright Carnival before them. There were little fires lit up across the property which was now covered in tents and even some rides. This the was the real deal. Mercedes’ heart raced as she squeezed Hubert’s hand. His beak turned towards her, “Have you ever been to one of these?”

“No,” said Mercedes as she looked at the acrobats in their colorful costumes and fire breathers spurting hot flames up into the air. “This is incredible.”

“Incredibly excessive,” said Hubert. He seemed immune to the festive air and instead annoyed that this disruption was keeping them in Hrym even a heartbeat longer. They made their way towards the crowded part where all the families were. Children were running around with sparklers in their hands and prizes won. There were stands with all sorts of sugary foods. Mercedes wasn’t hungry yet and thought it would be a pain to eat the sugary confections with her veil, so she made a mental note to double back here before they left.

Hubert pulled her out of the way of a spurt of flame just in time. The fire breather coughed and sputtered at the misdirected flames and apologized. Mercedes managed to tell him she was fine as she stared. He had green hair and eyes that almost seemed reptilian. His teeth had been filed into points and he had a split tongue. Then there were the tattoos of scales all over his neck arms and torso. His daughter, also bearing filed teeth bowed and gave Mercedes a fish shaped charm for nearly being crisped.

Mercedes and Hubert stuck around for a single joke from the bearded lady before agreeing this wasn’t their type of act. “Oh there’s Lysithea’s fortune telling tent, come on, let’s say hello,” said Mercedes.

Lysithea recognized them immediately despite their masks, “Ah Mr. and Mrs. von Vestra, what a pleasant surprise, please have a seat.” Mercedes lifted her veil and Hubert pulled down his beak as they settled down across from Lysithea at her little low set table on the ground.

An ornate Almyran rug had been spread on the floor, and fantastic tinted glass lanterns from Morfis hung like chandeliers from the rafters of the tent. There were velvet cushions all over with too many tassels and sequins. It was well done and Mercedes smiled at the ambiance, “Bravo Ms. von Ordelia. This is quite the production.”

“Thank you, my family may have been wiped out by plague, but our gold wasn’t,” she laughed as she shuffled her cards. “My parents know lots of merchants, they bring me exotic things like this.” She ran a hand over a very beautiful crystal ball on a gilded stand. Lysithea leaned in and smiled at the couple, “So what would you like to know?”

“How much does it cost?” asked Hubert dryly.

“For friends, free,” said Lysithea as she offered her hands. “Come on, surely you have a question that a wayseer could answer.”

Mercedes had so many questions about the past, the present, the future. She didn’t know which one to choose. Lysithea stretched towards her, “How about a palm reading then? I could use a warm up.”

Mercedes offered her hand. Lysithea’s fingers were like ice, which was not helped by the many rings upon them. Her bangles jostled and jingled as they slid down her skinny arms and towards her elbows. She focused on Mercedes’ palm in silence for an uncomfortably long time.

“You’re cursed,” whispered Lysithea with surprise as she studied Mercedes’ palm. She looked up at her, “You were cursed with a blood sacrifice.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Mercedes with quiet dread.

“Oh please,” muttered Hubert under his breath.

Lysithea frowned at him and then looked at Mercedes with a serious glint in her reddish eyes, “Someone wished that you would never bear children, and they killed a lot people while wishing for that.” Lysithea looked uncharacteristically shaken up by this as she released Mercedes’ hand.

“Emile,” said Mercedes as her stomach clenched.

Lysithea nodded slowly, “This is a primal sort of curse, this isn’t my area of expertise.”

“Are you saying I’ll never have a baby?” asked Mercedes quietly. Inside her there was a quiet resigned feeling. This had been something she’d been afraid of; they’d been trying for six months with no success, which wasn’t too long but with each passing period Mercedes got more and more uneasy. Now, unprompted, Lysithea was confirming her suspicions.

“This is cruel,” said Hubert harshly. “Why are you doing this? You look at someone’s palm to tease them about serious things and then skip away unaffected. You’re a little girl dressed up as witch, you’re not a doctor.”

Lysithea turned red at the comment, “I am not trying to be cruel Mr. von Vestra. I did see children in your future when I read your palm, and I do see a blood curse on your wife. These things are not mutually exclusive.”

Mercedes’ throat was getting sore as she thought about it, “Can it be lifted?”

Lysithea swallowed uneasily, “There are things I could try, but this is a thick stain upon you.” She squinted at Mercedes, “I don’t understand why Emile would do this to you, he loves you above all others.”

Mercedes knew. Mercedes knew what Baron von Bartels wanted her for. He wanted to fuck her and breed better heirs. That had to be the reason why Emile had snapped and killed the Hryms even if he wouldn’t admit it. Mercedes covered her mouth and tried not to cry because while the rational part of her was saying there was no such thing as a blood curse, the part of her that was still trying to understand Emile feared this was completely true.

She burst out in tears when Hubert’s arm wrapped protectively around her. “Thank you for nothing Ms. von Ordelia,” said Hubert, he tried to help Mercedes to her feet.

“Wait,” begged Lysithea. She sounded apologetic, “I didn’t mean to make you upset! Maybe I can help.”

“How?” croaked Mercedes as she dried her eyes. She was barren.

Lysithea looked reluctant, “It’s a new moon, it’s a good time for conception. It’s a time of new starts, and blank slates.”

Mercedes ran her hand along her stomach, “Why should I believe you?”

Lysithea sighed, “Don’t. I can’t guarantee you a baby but I can try a spell.”

Hubert was furious, “This is ridiculous.”

“Well it won’t hurt to try,” snapped Lysithea as she glared at him. Her stare softened as it returned to Mercedes. “May I at least try to help you?”

Mercedes looked at Hubert and found him looking irate but a small part of her wanted to believe. She nodded and Lysithea got up to go to an ornately carved cabinet. She came back with two vials and a pen knife. “I only need a little blood.”

Mercedes didn’t argue as Lysithea cleaned the knife and gave her the small prick. She collected a few drops. “I need it from both of you,” said Lysithea as she stared at Hubert.

His arms were folded, “Isn’t Mercedes the one with the curse? Why do you need my blood?”

“Because it’s your love for her that I’m going to try to use to break it,” said Lysithea softly.

Hubert had no biting response for that as he sighed and took off his glove to present his hand. Lysithea collected his sample and returned the items to her cabinet. “I’ve never tried something like this, I don’t know if it’s going to work.”

“Do we need to do anything?” asked Mercedes quietly.

Lysithea took a deep breath and put on a big smile, “Enjoy the carnival. Do all the dark and dirty things you’d never normally do. Get it all out of your system so we can start to purify you in the morning.”

Hubert was audibly annoyed as they walked away from the tent, “I would not put much stock in what she says. We’ll go to a proper doctor in Enbarr if you’re really worried about it.”

“Come on, let’s go this way, it’s less crowded,” said Mercedes as she dodged his question. They walked towards a slightly darker area of the carnival.

A very pretty man with pale purple hair smiled at them, “Welcome to the Wolves’ Den.” He pointed around, “This is the scary part of the carnival, but you two look like you might enjoy it.”

Mercedes nodded, “We love a good scare.”

“Might I suggest the hall of mirrors to start?” The young man pointed towards a long and dark tent. Mercedes and Hubert entered into the narrow tent. From the central beam lanterns hung to illuminate the mirrors. They took off their masks and started to explore. It was funny at first to see the odd contortions of their reflections, but as they progressed the fun house mirrors became less fun.

Mercedes frowned as Hubert’s reflection stretched up impossibly tall and thin while hers managed to become unflatteringly short and plump. He looked down at her and laughed at her reaction and swapped places with her so she could be lithe and he appeared squat. They linked fingers and continued down the hall of mirrors as their reflections warped and twisted. The last mirror in the line had a dark tinted glass that required them to get up very close. It was the only one held in an ornate frame. At the top was emblazoned _The Threshold of Death_ in big medieval looking letters.

Mercedes squinted at herself and found her own eyes looking back at her but surrounded in wrinkles. She gasped at the wizened old woman her reflection had become. She pulled on her sagging cheeks in disbelief and then glanced to see what kind of old man Hubert might make. She felt her stomach sinking at his reflection. Hubert appeared unchanged, apart from an expression of ill ease spreading across his face.

“Maybe we just need to swap places again,” offered Mercedes as she ignored the dread steadily welling up within her. Perhaps this was part of the gimmick.

When they switched places however, Mercedes was still ancient looking, and Hubert’s reflection had disappeared entirely. He stared at the empty space as his gloved fingers came up to brush against the glass. The hand that rose from the darkness of the mirror world to return his touch wore gloves torn to shreds and soaked in blood. Hubert immediately recoiled. The bloodied fingers stayed for a moment and then receded, leaving little bloody smudges where they’d been.

“It’s just a prank,” muttered Hubert, as he did a poor job at masking his discomfort. He peeked behind the frame, and they found it was a two-way mirror. Someone could have run up to hide behind it, even if that would have meant they had to get in and out of the tent quickly and silently to avoid detection. It also failed to explain the old woman that so very much looked like Mercedes and the lack of Hubert’s reflection.

Mercedes took Hubert’s hand and pulled him along to get away from the mirrors. “It didn’t mean anything, it was just a trick, like you said,” Mercedes assured him as she hugged his arm. Hubert said nothing. Mercedes could see he looked a little paler than usual, and so she scanned around for something to cheer him up. “Look, Bernadetta’s going into that tent, let’s go join her,” said Mercedes as she urged Hubert towards the tall tent with the main attraction starting up soon within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was shocked by the lack of Golden Deer as an actual circus in fanfics or fanart!


	9. The Demonic Beast [The Devil]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A demonic beast, with a horned goat’s head, dragon wings, a man’s torso, and hairy goat legs stands with a naked man and woman on leashes. They could leave at any time, but they choose not to. This is a card of passion and hedonism, exploring sexuality, and a lack of conscience. Emotions run wild and hot when the demonic beast appears.

Bernadetta was alone on a bench at the front row for the show. She looked a little put off sitting there by herself but her face brightened as she saw Mercedes and Hubert appear. “Hi, hello!”

“What happened to Byleth and Emile?” asked Mercedes. She and Hubert took their seats. The risers behind them were filling up and there was an sense of anticipation building like static in a storm.

“Byleth was a little frightened of all the masks, and so Emile took her back to the house to settle down,” said Bernadetta. She idly played with her gloves as if to distract her fingers.

“Oh dear, what happened to your hand?” asked Mercedes as she brushed a bandage on Bernadetta’s palm.

“Oh, I was cutting flowers for this mask in the green house and cut my hand by accident,” said Bernadetta. “I got blood all over but luckily Lysithea was there to help stitch me shut and clean up.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” said Mercedes.

“It was my fault,” murmured Bernadetta. “I should have been paying closer attention to where my shears were heading.” Her eyes were tracing around the interior of the tent; it was incredibly tight and tall. “I’ve never been to a carnival like this before. I thought the clowns would scare me but this all quite fun.”

Hubert’s his arm settled behind Mercedes and gave her a little squeeze. He seemed slightly more at ease now that they were far from those horrid mirrors and into a show. He hadn’t put back on his mask though and she could see how distant his eyes were, and how his posture sagged. Mercedes lifted off her veil and tried to give him a reassuring look. He didn’t meet her eyes and instead focused on the ring where a spotlight was being centered. Conversations fell to whispers as two men strutted into the ring. They both had purple hair and thin bodies though one was taller with darker hair, “I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, ring leader of the Golden Deer.”

The lighter haired man sneered as he stepped into the light, “And I am Yuri Leclerc, leader of the Ashen Wolves.” Mercedes swore that he winked right at Bernadetta in the front row.

“Tonight, we have a special show for you all, a rare double feature,” announced Lorenz as he cast a hand up to the rafters where three acrobats were waiting.

Yuri chuckled and looked at the edge of the spotlight, “But first we’ll begin with the, what was it? The Inconsequential Prince of Prancing?”

“That’s the Undisputed King of Grappling to you,” grunted the wall of a man entering the ring. His hair was dark and wavy and his muscles seemed to stretch for days.

“Undisputed! You’ll be refuted!” announced another massive man entering from the opposite corner with blond hair and a painfully square jaw. His shirt was pulling at the strain of covering his chest. “Balthus! I’mma bring you a world of hurt.”

“And who are you?” asked Balthus as he stroked his particularly large champion’s belt.

“Raphael, and I’m cookin’ up trouble,” said Raphael as he slammed one fist into his open palm.

“I hope they don’t hurt each other,” whispered Mercedes with worry that a bloody tooth was going to land in her lap.

“It’s all fake, scripted out beforehand,” muttered Hubert. He pointed to Balthus’ feet, “Watch how he moves, he just looks like he’s taking the hit.”

Mercedes was a touch disappointed to have the illusion shattered but she felt better knowing no one was really going to get clocked even as Balthus pinned Raphael and pulled his leg up like he was going to rip it off.

“Who’s the king of grappling?” Balthus elicited cheers from the crowd as they chanted his name.

“Your mother’s the king of grapplin’!” retorted Raphael as he picked the other man up and spun him around again and again before throwing him into a conveniently placed pile of hay. He went over and undid the belt to lift it over his head to a rousing round of applause.

Before there was a chance to ask what was next, a golden silk tumbled with a weight inside it from the rafters towards the ground. It came to an abrupt halt as man with an easy grin lazily stretched out to greet the stunned audience. Beside Mercedes, Hubert looked like he was going to puke. She eyed him cautiously, “Are you alright?”

“I’m afraid of heights,” he said as his mask went back up over his face. Mercedes held his hand and suspected his eyes were pressed firmly shut.

“Oh there’s two women coming down now,” started Mercedes.

“Please don’t describe it,” whispered Hubert. She saw him physically flinch as the crowd gasped at the display. Mercedes calmly petted his hand and kept her excitement to herself as the man and two women danced in the air suspended in silks.

A blond woman with ringlets in her hair spun down in a purple silk while a woman with a shock of magenta hair tumbled down in a bright pink silk. Their bodies twisted and turned in a daring way and Mercedes felt anxious for them. They looked like they might fall at any moment. They were also wearing almost no clothes, though the fabric they were twirling in largely kept them covered.

Mercedes had once seen a ballet with Annette while in school. It had been an extremely formal affair in Fhirdiad, and they had even glimpsed a distant sight of the prince up in his private box. To Mercedes, this aerial dancing was just as beautiful, even though instead of a fine stage with a full orchestra it was done in a patchwork tent with only a fiddle dramatically played by a speckled man with sage green hair. There was an element of fear to this the ballet would never have, and Mercedes found her breath catching in her throat as one of the women looked like she might fall, until the man caught her and they danced and spun up in the air. The way the three of them flowed made seem as if they belonged in perfect harmony together as they braided their silks together to a final descent to the floor. Mercedes found she was squeezing Hubert and Bernadetta’s hands to quell her frenzied excitement at the scene.

“You can look now, they’re safe,” said Mercedes as she rubbed Hubert’s back to reassure him. Hubert cautiously took off his mask and sighed with relief.

“For our next act, Leonie, the blind archer,” announced Lorenz as he walked around the perimeter of the ring. He took Mercedes by the hand before she could protest and raised her hand in the air, “A volunteer!”

Mercedes had a smile as she played along. She was directed to stand in front of a wood board. Leonie came out, already blindfolded, and knocking her arrow.

Mercedes froze in place as the first arrow sunk itself into the wood to the left of her ear. She let out a small gasp as another immediately hit to the right. Leonie moved fast and sure as a third arrow neatly hit just inches above Mercedes’ head. She was stuck staring ahead in shock as she wondered just how many more arrows were going to fly. She turned her head slightly to look at Hubert, who looked horrified that this was happening. Bernadetta had one of his hands in a white knuckle grip as she watched with wide eyes.

“This isn’t very challenging,” mused Lorenz loudly as he produced a liquor bottle. Mercedes gasped as Leonie pulled the cork out with her teeth and took more than a generous sip. The archer licked her lips as she drew back her fourth arrow. Mercedes didn’t know what to do as she squeezed her eyes shut. There was a loud cracking sound as Bernadetta screamed out. Yuri stood, sword drawn, in the middle of the ring. The arrow, deflected by a sword strike, had landed in the dirt at Bernadetta’s feet. Mercedes felt her knees growing weak as she leaned against the target and tried not to collapse.

Yuri bowed to the applauding crowd as Hubert left his seat to fetch Mercedes. Yuri appeared at her side as Hubert led her back to her seat. “You were never in any danger,” promised Yuri, not in a booming voice for the crowd, but a smaller one for her. “It’s just an act.” It did not make her feel much better.

“That was really scary,” whispered Bernadetta. She sounded almost surprised to have been frightened by it, and Mercedes didn’t know how to respond other than to nod.

Unperturbed by the act, Lorenz continued and introduced an escape artist named Ashe. The young man was wrapped in chains and promptly dumped into a glass tank. Mercedes felt her throat growing tight as she watched him struggle, “How long can he possibly hold his breath for?” Yet amazingly he squirmed free and swam to the top to give them a sopping smile.

“For our final act, I will need a volunteer,” said Yuri as he stared at Bernadetta. Mercedes watched as Bernadetta trustingly rose. Yuri smiled as he took her hand, “Thank you my lovely assistant.”

The acrobats from earlier were wheeling out a great big wardrobe. “Now the Hrym lands are known for a certain, mystical reputation,” said Yuri as he walked around the box. “This artifact can transport a person beyond the veil and back.” He opened the wardrobe and gestured inside. “Now I am going to send this lovely young woman beyond this realm, and bring her back.” He pulled his sword out and handed it to Bernadetta, “Just in case you encounter anything,” he winked.

Bernadetta nervously clutched the sword as she was shut inside the box. The acrobats spun it three times while Yuri waved his arms and spoke in words that Mercedes was sure were made up. When the box stopped spinning and the door reopened, Bernadetta was gone. There was applause and Yuri bowed, “And now to bring her back.” This step was just as dramatic and drawn out and when the door was opened, there was no Bernadetta.

Hubert and Mercedes looked at each other and wondered if this was part of the act. Yuri played it cool, “I suppose she’s just not ready to come back! She must be enjoying herself.” They spun the box again and yet no Bernadetta. Hubert had folded his arms and looked about three breaths away from getting up.

Yuri chuckled nervously and began knocking discretely on the box, “Um, miss? Is your, um, spirit amongst us?” He was met with a terrified whimper.

Hubert snapped and got out of his chair. Yuri looked at him like he was a lunatic, “Sir! I only require one volunteer and this is a space for professionals.”

“Cut the shit,” hissed Hubert as he started knocking on the paneling of the box. “Bernadetta can you hear me?”

“Hubert?” Bernadetta’s voice was muffled and panicked. “Hubert get me out of here!”

Yuri was looking at the crowd, “It appears we’re experiencing some technical difficulties—”

Hubert was practically prying the box open at its seams until Balthus sprinted onto the stage to physically haul him off and then the performers began to work on the mechanism in a stage appropriate way. Mercedes watched as Hubert struggled ineffectively against the brawler and was caught between wanting to be available for Bernadetta to run to and stopping Hubert from talking his way into getting all his teeth knocked out. There was a cracking noise and Bernadetta, sobbing, was pulled from the cramped compartment she had been in. Mercedes ran to hug her and help her towards the exit. Yuri was trying to apologize while also working the crowd and the whole thing fell flat. They were over this carnival.

Bernadetta took a number of deep breaths as they got out into the open air. “That was so scary,” she said as she doubled over. “It was like the whole space was closing in on me.”

Hubert looked disheveled as he came over to them, “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough merriment for one lifetime.”

Mercedes linked arms with the two as they went back to the house and left the carnival in the dust. “I think they found something to scare all of us,” said Mercedes.

“Acrophobia, claustrophobia, and um, the fear of projectile weapons are hardly unique to us,” said Hubert. He seemed positively perturbed as he tossed his mask back into the box of costumes waiting in the foyer.

They passed Emile and Byleth, curled up and sleeping on the a sofa in the parlor. Bernadetta’s stare lingered on them until it broke away and she made for the stairs. Mercedes pursed her lips as she watched the scene, “Bernadetta, do you want to spend some time together? It’s not that late, and Hubert and I will be going home soon and I’m afraid we don’t have much more time together.”

“Oh right,” said Bernadetta. She nodded, “Do you mind if I change?”

“No, stop by when you’re ready,” smiled Mercedes.

It was almost twenty minutes later when Bernadetta showed, in her nightgown and robe. Mercedes set aside her book and welcomed her to the bed. “You seem less happy than you did earlier in the evening,” said Mercedes as Bernadetta curled up against her.

“I suppose,” mumbled Bernadetta. “The night began nice with Emile and I but I think, I think things aren’t going to go how I thought they might.”

“What do you mean?” said Mercedes. She brushed her fingers through Bernadetta’s hair and the smaller woman sighed.

“Byleth is, different, I don’t dislike her, but it’s hard to really connect with her,” said Bernadetta. “And I think Emile is still in love with her, he might always be. I just don't feel like I'll ever really be a part of their world.” Bernadetta’s head settled against Mercedes’ shoulder, “It’s one thing to be free to take a lover, it’s a whole other beast to find someone interested.”

“Oh you’ll find someone,” promised Mercedes as Hubert emerged from the bathroom. He glanced at them and laid on the couch with his arms folded. Mercedes turned back to Bernadetta and hugged her, “What are you looking for?”

Bernadetta groaned as she eased back into the pillows, “Well, I feel a bit ridiculous about it now, but I definitely wanted what you two have.”

“Why is that silly?” asked Mercedes, unsure if to be flattered or offended.

“Oh, no, it’s not silly, you two are great, I, I sort of wanted to share that,” said Bernadetta in a small voice. “You have so much love for each other and I just daydreamed about you sharing it with me.”

It was sweet and honest. Mercedes propped her head up with her hand, “Why didn’t you say something?”

Bernadetta blushed, “Oh, I was far too afraid. I was dousing you with a love potion but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t real—”

“What?” Hubert sat up in confusion.

Bernadetta looked mortified, “I’m sorry! Lysithea gave it to me, I’m pretty sure she was messing with me.”

“You were just slipping us some random potion made by a witch?” demanded Hubert.

“I had it myself, it was just a chicory extract,” sighed Bernadetta. She covered her face with her hands, “I told you it was silly!”

“You were giving us both a love potion?” asked Mercedes in confusion. “As in you want to be with both of us?”

Bernadetta was practically willing herself to disappear into the pillows, “We don’t have to keep talking about this.”

Mercedes looked over at Hubert. This was more or less what they had talked about. She nodded her head to Bernadetta and arched her eyebrows. Hubert watched her doing this and looked confused, “What?”

So much for silent communication. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that at all,” announced Mercedes.

Bernadetta emerged from the pillows, “Really?”

“No,” promised Mercedes. She gave one last look to Hubert and bit her lip. It was carnival, it was a time of experimentation and indulgence. She ran her hand along Bernadetta’s leg, “I think it’s exciting.”

Hubert was watching closely, now finally understanding. Bernadetta was staring at Mercedes hand and breathing faster. Mercedes pursed her lips. She wanted to make love to a woman, more than she wanted to admit, and here was her chance. She had no idea if this would ever happen again. “If you want to, I think we should, tonight, since it’s the carnival and all.”

“Um, uh, what would we do?” asked Bernadetta cautiously.

“Whatever you want,” whispered Mercedes as she leaned in to kiss Bernadetta. She looked again at Hubert and gestured for him to get over to the bed as she started taking off her nightgown.

***

Watching Mercedes pleasuring Bernadetta was hard to look away from as Hubert found himself painfully aroused. He was barely aware of the way he absently stroked himself while he watched them. Bernadetta and Mercedes were whispering to each other and their eyes traced to him.

“Don’t you want to be inside me?” whispered Mercedes as she looked back at him. Hubert swallowed and nodded as he got behind her and prepared to enter her. As he thumped into Mercedes, he watched Bernadetta twisting and groaning with pleasure while his wife followed the rhythm he was setting with her fingers. He did not last very long as the scene of the two women dominated his view. He felt lightheaded and all his senses were dulled as he settled into the bed, flanked on either side by Mercedes and Bernadetta. The women linked their hand atop him as his arms wrapped around them. It had been different but nice, and he was glad that Mercedes was enjoying herself so much.

Mercedes was kissing Hubert’s neck while simultaneously playing with Berndetta’s breasts. It was impressive how well Mercie took to being with two people. Hubert was finding himself turned on again as he watched her starting to move her mouth from him onto Bernadetta. “Do you want to go again?”

Mercedes bit her lip and looked at Bernadetta, “I think you should be inside her and I’ll set the pace.” She took Bernadetta’s hand to kiss it and met her eyes, “Would you like that?” Bernadetta nodded timidly and Mercedes gently laid her back upon the bed.

Hubert watched as this unfolded as a fierce conflict spread in his heart. He wasn’t sure he wanted to actually be with Bernadetta but at the same time he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t thought about it. Mercedes was the one suggesting it too, which meant she had to be alright with it. Bernadetta was eying him closely, and she wanted it too. Hubert took a deep breath and mentally prepared for what was about to happen.

Mercedes spread Bernadetta’s legs and positioned Hubert between them. She carefully worked him back up and then guided him in. Bernadetta gasped and Hubert sucked in a deep breath as he adjusted to the unfamiliarity of her body. Mercedes held him close and kept one hand on his back and one hand on his lower belly as she started to move in a thrusting motion.

It was overwhelming. Hubert was having trouble focusing as Bernadetta moaned beneath him. He grabbed onto her to steady himself. It was completely unfamiliar to have his wife’s hand snaking around his front and controlling his pace while he moved inside a different woman. The house seemed to moan with pleasure and the bed creaked and whined as the three of them moved in harmony.

Hubert pressed a finger gently to Bernadetta’s lips, “Shh.” As much as he was lost in what was happening, he did not want anyone else to know. This was dangerous territory, this broke every rule. She responded by sucking at his finger as he felt Mercedes pressing against his back so that he was closer to Bernadetta’s face. Perhaps it did not matter with the sounds of the carnival still filling up the night. He withdrew his hands and kissed Bernadetta’s lips instead. She felt different from Mercedes. She was novel, unfamiliar, and unpredictable. Bernadetta’s fingers came up to run through his hair and their eyes locked with each other. She looked up at him with raw desire and trust. This was too much, and Hubert was suddenly gripped with regrets. He didn’t want to be this close to someone other than Mecedes; he wanted to get out.

“I need to, I need to stop,” he said as he put a hard brake on Mercedes’ rhythmic motions. Mercedes helped to pull him free as he was finishing. It was sloppy and poorly timed, and Bernadetta was looking a little embarrassed by the sudden cessation of everything. His brain was slow for want of blood flow. He felt too warm and too tired like his life was being sucked away into a fever. He just wanted to sleep. Mercedes took over with Bernadetta so that she didn’t feel neglected while Hubert excused himself to the bathroom to clear his mind.

He looked into the mirror and his mind flashed back to the hall of mirrors and the dark one at the end. Hubert dropped his gaze down to the vanity and took a few deep breaths to steady his pounding heart. When that did nothing he squeezed his eyes shut and sank down to his knees. He wasn’t sure how long he crouched there feeling nauseous but eventually he returned to the now quiet bedroom. Bernadetta was lying in Mercedes arms looking flush and sleepy.

“Are you alright?” whispered Mercedes as he settled onto the other side of her.

“I’ll be fine,” said Hubert softly. He just needed to sleep this off and suggest they never do this again.

***

The new moon was a time of promise, of potential, and the only night of the lunar cycle Lysithea’s spell had any chance of being heard. She climbed up to the roof of the house and looked down at the carnival on the lawn in the distance. It was dark and she had no light, no one would see her up here.

Lysithea stripped aside her clothes to lay naked for the old gods alone. She was a twenty year old trapped in a whithering body that felt much older. No one looked upon her and wanted her, but if that was the only problem she sought to solve then her life would be much simpler.

Lysithea traced the scars left by the blood experiments, ‘the plague’, that marred her skin and left her in constant pain. She was dying and she felt it more and more with each passing year. Once she had clung to a naive hope she would recover, but it became clear that this was a problem that time would not make go away. Time was only making things worse, which was why she returned to this strange cursed house where time was more malleable. She came to this place where the boundary between life and death was just a shade blurrier than normal places. She came to Hrym to save herself.

She was getting desperate enough to gamble with a spell of resurrection discovered the archives. Yet she did not wish to be a shambling corpse pretending to be alive like those things that slept down in the Hrym crypts. She had something they did not: she still had her soul, it just needed something new to go into. So she’d make a proper body for it, fed by passions and temptations offered as sacrifices to the Agarthan’s gods. Lysithea took a deep breath and began to pull up the emotions from the carnival up and of their hosts to offer as sacrifice. When she felt sufficiently imbued with the beautiful and ugly emotions, all the ill advised lust, and all the delicious shame that followed, all shaken out by the carnival, Lysithea began her spell.

The words were easy to offer up to the empty night sky.

_Hear me Goddess of the new moon,_

_When sinner's seed meets wanting womb,_

_Create a vessel for my soul to consume._

_Let it grow like waxing moon,_

_While my husk withers towards its doom._

On their own the words meant nothing. They needed the blood ritual to be understood. She needed to demonstrate just how far she was willing to go, and for the chance at living no cost was too high for Lysithea von Ordelia, last of her house and bloodline.

It was this part, the mutilation, that Lysithea was least excited for. She closed her eyes and began to carve the needed symbols into her skin. She gritted her teeth against the pain and reminded herself this was nothing compared to what those dark engineers had done to her as a child. This was a paper cut compared to having all her ribs opened up and her blood systematically replaced. This was a chill in the night, not the cold of a stone cell. This was the dark of an empty sky, not the pitch blackness of Shambhala.

This was the trading of an uncertain death sentence for a precisely timed one that would take exactly nine months. She got out the vials of blood she’d gathered and painted the Hrym House guests' blood over the cuts upon herself, a symbol for mother, a symbol for father. Lysithea dipped her fingers into her open flesh and finished her last symbol in her own blood: child.

Death was merely just another state of being, and there were no rules that said once one body broke down that your soul had to leave this world. The Hrym lands had a particular penchant for making ghosts, but Lysithea did not intend to go quietly into the void. No. She would just make herself a new body out of these unsuspecting fools. A sin in the eyes of one deity was just a sacrifice in the name of another. What offended Seiros pleased Nemesis and so on and so forth. Lysithea was going to do the ultimate sacrifice, she would give her own body for the chance at another, this one unmarred by the awful experiments that had left her siblings dead and her with an hourglass over her head. This was a long spell, an old one that tapped into the innate workings of the world. This would take time, a new body could not be rushed. Lysithea sat patiently on the roof and waited for her scabs to form.

***

Hubert woke hours later with Bernadetta still in their bed, passed out, and Mercedes standing and looking out the window. Hubert got out of the bed, carefully as to avoid disturbing Bernadetta, and walked over to Mercedes. He draped himself over her in a hug, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Hubert softly. Sleeping had helped put some distance between his mind and what had happened earlier. He couldn’t change it and he was getting to a point where he accepted that. “What are you thinking about?”

Mercedes wiped her nose and nodded, “I’m just stuck on what Lysithea said about that blood curse.”

Hubert exhaled softly and pulled Mercedes to sit with him in the nearest arm chair. He gently eased his hand into her robe to touch her warm soft stomach, “I know you want to get pregnant, but there are other options. We can adopt a baby.”

“I know,” said Mercedes as she shifted from his touch to settle in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a sad smile. “I know I’m being foolish about it—”

“You’re not, it’s perfectly natural to want this,” murmured Hubert as he adjusted his hands to hold her hips instead. “We can still keep trying while looking into adoption, but I think there are many babies out there who would love you as a mother.” Hubert teased her with a kiss, “And the best part is that none of them look like me.”

Mercedes stifled a laugh and kissed him back, “Maybe I want a little scary baby that looks like you.”

“Instead of the playground you can take him to the graveyard,” said Hubert as he studied her in the darkness as her legs squeezed against him.

“That’s dark,” she whispered with approval as her hips began to grind against him.

Hubert loosened the ties of her robe and their bodies were soon joining again. They made as little noise as possible. Neither knew the etiquette of what to do when a person they had just slept with lay slumbering in their bed while they were just looking for a moment with each other.

“You’re the only one I want,” he murmured as their bodies pressed together in the small space allowed by the armchair. “If you want to sleep with another woman again, I think I’ll just watch.” He could get himself off to a sight like that any time. Being inside Bernadetta had been too intimate, too close, but watching hadn’t stirred the same feeling in him. He knew he’d feel very differently if Mercedes was _in love_ romantically with another woman, but it all felt physical and nothing more. What they were doing right now though, this was a sort of love that he felt in his bones. He thought about what Lysithea had said, and knew that this was the kind of love that could break curses.

Mercedes was doing most of the work against him in this position. She was in control, of this and the future of their sex life, “It was nice, but different. If you were uncomfortable, we don’t need to do it again.”

“Thank you,” whispered Hubert before he kissed her neck.

They heard the opening and shutting of the door as Bernadetta made her escape. Mercedes and Hubert looked at each other and silently decided that was for the best. “I wonder how much she heard,” whispered Hubert. He hoped her feelings were not hurt.

Mercedes pursed her lips as her body trembled, she was quiet as she hit her climax but he could feel it happening. Only once she’d had hers did he move her to the rug by the fireplace to really lay into her now that they were alone. Mercedes scratched her fingers into his back and he swore she’d drawn blood. The little pain mixed with pleasure made his hair stand on end. When they decoupled finally he kissed Mercedes on the stomach, and while Hubert didn’t ever pray he decided it couldn’t hurt to just ask the goddess “ _Please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yo momma jokes, wrestling, an ill-advised threesome, ritual mutilation...it's all coming together.


	10. The Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fire rages in a tower as people jump from the windows. This is a card of chaos and destruction. Nothing good will come of this.

Hubert was roused by someone hysterically shouting. He pulled on his clothes and sleepily went to investigate while Mercedes buried her head under a pillow and groaned about the early hour.

Manuela was arguing with Linhardt, “What do you mean he’s not in his room? He hasn’t been with me, where is he?”

“What’s going on?” asked Hubert as he descended the stairs.

“It appears Dr. von Essar is unaccounted for,” said Linhardt. “I have already checked the archives, and he is not in his room.”

Hubert frowned, “Well when did you part last night?”

Manuela looked incredibly frustrated, “I never found him! I assumed that he was breaking up with me, so I figured I’d come here and break up with him first, but he’s _not_ here.”

“When was the last you saw him?” Hubert realized he hadn’t actually seen Hanneman since Sunday. It was Thursday, that was worrisome.

“Sunday night, when he was walking home,” said Manuela.

Hubert looked at Linhardt, “And the last time you saw him?”

“I, I suppose Sunday as well,” admitted Linhardt. “I assumed he was just in the archives, I didn’t not think much of it.”

Hubert felt anxious as he considered it, “So no one has seen him in three days.” That was not good. “And you’re positive he’s not in the archives?”

“They’re huge, it would take days to search them entirely,” said Linhardt with annoyance.

“Can you please go check again,” asked Hubert. He turned to Manuela, “You said he walked home on Sunday night?”

Manuela nodded, “I asked him not to but he insisted. He had my lantern.”

“Let us retrace his steps, we’ll try to see if we see anything amiss,” offered Hubert.

“Do you think something happened?” Manuela was clutching at his shirt. It was like Hanneman to go off for days on some academic tangent, and Hubert expected they were going to find him buried in a book and completely unaware that days had passed since his last human interaction.

However, Hubert didn’t want to give her false hope, “Come on, he might have fallen in the dark, he might be hurt but if we find him quickly you’ll be there treat him.”

The carnival was being taken down and looked less fantastic in the full light. Perhaps that was why they did it on a new moon. Manuela and Hubert weaved around all the troupes and began to walk the path towards town. They scrutinized every step but there were so many wagon tracks it was difficult to sort out what they were looking at.

“Wait,” shouted Manuela as she bent down to pick something up. Hanneman’s cracked monocle glinted in the sun as she held it up. Hubert stared at it, and assumed the worst.

The search party was led by Emile and his frightfully large dog Bloodbane. There were carnies helping and much of the household. Hubert was not feeling optimistic as they found the lantern, smashed to pieces, and what could have been blood nearby. They began their search of the woods.

The group fanned out with instructions to walk forward in a line, searching a specific radius. They were combing the forest for anything that might help. Manuela, now fully hysterical, was back at the house in the care of Mercedes.

Hanneman was absent minded at times and Hubert found himself wishing that Hanneman just forgot to tell everyone he was shipping out to Morfis or something. Hubert did not want to find his family friend in a ditch. Hubert got one of his wishes; Emile found Hanneman. Hubert vomited as he saw the tattered corpse in it’s little tree hollow. He forced himself to look again. This was definitely an animal attack, not a person. “Seiros, fuck,” muttered Hubert as he looked at the jagged wounds opening and exposing Hanneman’s torso.

Emile said nothing but looked back towards the house, “Go tell the doctor what has happened. I will get help moving the body.”

Hubert didn’t argue. The last thing he wanted to do was touch Hanneman’s bloodied body. He walked back in a daze wondering how he was going to tell Manuela what had happened. He was also going to have to contact Hanneman’s nephew in Enbarr to arrange a funeral. Hubert supposed he was going to have to take the body back. He paused by the stairs to the house and tried to compose himself.

Hubert didn’t cry at much, but he had known Hanneman since he was a child. Hanneman was a truly nice person and frankly Hubert liked him better than he liked his own father. Hanneman used to take Hubert to museums and bring him weird trinkets from abroad, and he always patiently answered all of Hubert’s many questions about dragons and mummies and all sorts of things. Hanneman was dead, and that hurt to accept.

Telling Manuela was a blur. She was devastated and Hubert found himself offering to put her up in Enbarr for the funeral. He found himself in the town sending telegrams and arranging tickets. He stumbled through booking a space for a coffin on the train. Hanneman was going to be on a boxcar, not a passenger car, and that felt so very wrong. Hubert had been desperate to go home, but not like this.

***

Lysithea had a nosebleed. It inconveniently dripped down onto the paper she was writing a letter to her mother upon. Lysithea paused and felt the warm blood on the top of her lip and laughed in surprise. On its own a nosebleed was not extraordinary. Her body had been steadily breaking down over the last eighteen years, and this was hardly news. Yet today felt worse. This was the final push. Her spell had worked, and she was going to die. She imagined she had until sundown.

Lysithea grabbed a handkerchief and blocked up her nostrils as she got herself a new piece of paper. She had been wondering what to write her mother, but now she knew that this little update was a goodbye. It was certain she would soon not be well enough to travel home to die with her family. She hoped they would understand that she would have preferred to be there with them.

When that was done she sealed it with a kiss and took the letter to the postbox. She walked outside and felt cold despite the summer sun. She made her way to the stables where Marianne was sitting and reading her book of prayers.

“Marianne?” Lysithea felt exhausted by the short walk and knew that was not a good sign. “Marianne I’m afraid it’s time.”

The gentle young woman who could not help but be a terrible beast looked up with saddened eyes, “Already?”

Lysithea nodded as she sat beside her closest friend, “I stockpiled the potion for you. It’s in the greenhouse, but it’s not going to be enough to last before I’m able to make it again.”

Marianne shut her book of prayer and held Lysithea’s cold hands trying to warm them, “Thank you for the years of clarity that you gave me.” She paused and a few tears dripped down her face, “Thank you for being my friend.”

Lysithea tried not to cry, “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to break your curse. But maybe the next me will!” Lysithea refused to accept defeat, not in this lifetime, not ever.

Marianne’s smile was grim, “I do not think it will be good for me to stay here. Emile told me I was welcome to roam the hunting grounds, that he would try to make sure I wasn’t disturbed. I’ll go there when your potions run out.”

“I’ll remember, and I’ll find you,” promised Lysithea as she squeezed Marianne’s hand. “I won’t give up!”

“Thank you Lysithea,” murmured Marianne as she kissed the other woman’s forehead.

***

The bags were packed. A plain coffin to transport Hanneman in had been acquired and was loaded on the roof of the carriage. All that remained on Mercedes’ to do list was to try one last time to talk to Emile. Mercedes wasn’t sure what she wanted for her relationship with her brother, but as it stood this was not good.

“Emile,” she called after him as he came back an especially long training session. She wasn’t sure when else she might catch him, they were scheduled to depart in a few hours.

He did not acknowledge her. “Emile I’m going to be leaving soon,” she said as he turned to look at her. He looked unwell. His skin was pale and his eyes seemed strangely distant. She frowned, “Have you been injured?” She stepped closer, “Emile—”

He grabbed her by the arms and stared close at her face as if he didn’t recognize her. His words were spoken in broken breaths, “Must, slay,” he leaned in closer, “More.”

“What?” Mercedes had no idea what was going on. It was as if he had a head injury.

Emile pushed her away and looked around the entryway of Hrym House with disgust, “There is no pleasure in these halls, my thirst must be quenched.” He paused and looked at her now with interest in his eyes, “Perhaps bathing in your blood with help to satiate—”

Mercedes didn’t really think as she slapped him hard across the face. He grabbed her by the offending wrist and growled. Mercedes heart began to pick up speed, “You, you’re not Emile, you’re, you’re Jeritza.” It was like he was a different person stealing her brother’s skin and wearing his flesh as a mask. “You might look like him, but you are not Emile. He would never say such a thing.” Hot tears of conviction rushed down her cheeks.

“Names. Emile, Jeritza, what do I care for names?” He let her go and paced as his head twitched. “I care only to kill, or be killed.”

Mercedes rubbed her pained wrist and thought of the bruises sparring with Jertiza had left across Hubert. She thought of the von Bartels slashed in their beds. She thought of Emile and wondered if he had died long ago. “So you wish to kill me? Is that it? Because I’m part of the reason you’ve become what you are?” She shut her eyes and suppressed her sob, “I can only imagine how terrible and lonely your life must have been without us. It’s little wonder you have become this broke down version of yourself. We should have never left you, I would have sacrificed myself to save you—”

“Nonsense,” he hissed at her.

Mercedes’ eyes burst open, blue rimmed with red, and she glared because it was her truth. “I cannot turn back the hands of time. I can only throw myself at you for atonement.”

“You don’t understand anything,” said Jeritza as he continued to pace. He was like a predator waiting for the right moment to go for her throat.

She took a deep breath and attempted one last goodbye, “Emile, if you’re in there I am sorry.”

He stopped pacing and stared at the floor. His pale skin flushed with red, with life, with emotion. “I told mother to leave me,” he whispered it. His fists were shaking at his sides like he was fighting something unseen. “I did that to protect you. I killed them, to protect you.” Mercedes tried to reach out to him but he flinched back, “Regardless of the reasons, a demon is a demon.” He shut his eyes, “I have said enough. Go now, before he changes my mind.”

“Wait, this isn’t fair!” snapped Mercedes in frustration. She felt like she was finally getting a glimpse at Emile and now he was shutting her right back out.

He grabbed her again, not in a violent way as before, but instead in a desperate sort of way, “He will harm you all if you stay. He wants you here to hurt me, leave before he comes back.”

Mercedes nodded in shock and Emile released her. She stood frozen for a few moments before Emile pointed and shouted at the door, “Go. Now!” Like when she was 10 running from the Bartels’, Mercedes did not dare to look back.

***

Hubert had an obligation to clear the air with Bernadetta before he and Mercedes left for Enbarr. He surprised her with a mug of tea, “May we talk?”

She stared at the cup and nodded. Hubert pursed his lips, “I’m sorry if things got uncomfortable a few nights ago, I um, I am not used to—”

“You hate me now don’t you,” whispered Bernadetta frantically.

“I think you’re a wonderful person,” blurted out Hubert as he wrestled with what to say. “I just, I did not realize what things would be like until we were in the thick of things.”

Bernadetta nodded and sipped her tea, “For what it’s worth, I don’t find sex quite as scary as I did, so that was a little silver lining.”

Hubert gave her a small bow of his head, “I hope you find someone that’s a better fit for you.” He drummed his knuckles on the table, “Do you still wish to stay in Hrym or do you want to take this opportunity to go to Enbarr?”

Bernadetta looked extremely conflicted, “If I go to Enbarr, I think I must annul my marriage and I am not sure if that is the best move for me. I have no desire to return to my parents, but ironically I feel I have more independence here.” She looked towards the woods, “But Hrym does not seem like a safe place. I know what happened to Hanneman was a terrible freak accident, but,” her voice dropped. “I don’t know.” She sighed and leaned in, “I know a lot about bears. They’re kind of my favorite animal, and they don’t live in Hrym and wolves aren’t really found here either.”

“Maybe a cougar?”

“Maybe,” said Bernadetta uncertainly. “But he was attacked in the front, big cats like to stalk their prey and jump on their backs.” She drained her tea, “Something’s not right, I just don’t know what.”

Mercedes entered the room looking ashen. “We should go,” she said as she pulled both of them from their chairs.

“What?” Bernadetta looked shocked.

“Trust me, we need to go,” said Mercedes. “You’re coming with us.”

“I am?” Bernadetta asked as Mercedes began to tug them towards the door.

“I’ll explain on the way,” promised Mercedes as she marched the trio towards the carriage.

“I don’t have any of my stuff—”

“Forget it, we’ll get you new stuff,” said Mercedes as she opened the door to the carriage and forced Bernadetta inside. She grabbed Hubert by the shirt, “Get Linhardt and get the horse, we need to leave.”

“What happened?”

“Emile warned me, in so many words, to leave,” said Mercedes with a tremor in her words. “As soon as possible.”

Hubert nodded and ran to the stables to where he found Linhardt readying Dorte with Marianne’s help. “We need to leave, now.”

Linhardt looked up in confusion, “What? No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you, we’re leaving now,” said Hubert frantically. Linhardt reluctantly started to pull the horse towards the carriage. It took a bit of time to hitch everything up, and Hubert tried not to feel completely nervous as Mercedes hovered over Linhardt and asked if he could move any faster. Marianne was begging them to be gentle with Dorte.

Mercedes yelped as she saw Emile exiting the house. “We must go, now!” She climbed inside the carriage with Bernadetta while Hubert sat with Linhardt.

Linhardt set Dorte, who was not an especially fast horse, into motion. “Stop,” shouted Emile, and Linhardt obeyed. Dorte nearly reared up at the sudden pull of the reins and Mercedes and Bernadetta could be heard crying out in confusion from within the carriage.

Hubert looked at the footman in disbelief, “What are you doing?”

“I have to obey him,” whispered Linhardt as his hands shook holding the reins. “I cannot disobey a direct order from a von Hrym.”

Emile was closing the distance between himself and the group, “Get down from there.”

Linhardt gave Hubert a panicked look before he turned with a jerk and fell forward from the driver’s seat. He landed on the ground on all fours and froze.

“Get up,” ordered Emile as he got to the carriage.

Mercedes opened the carriage door and got out to help Linhardt up, but his body was firmly fixed to the ground. “Get up please,” she begged as Emile came to loom over them.

Emile stared indifferently at the footman, “I revoke the gifts of Hrym from you.”

Linhardt didn’t even get to protest as he slumped forward, dead. Mercedes screamed as she let him go. She wrenched her head back and looked at Hubert, “Go! He wants me, get away while you can!”

“No,” said Hubert in disbelief. “I’m not leaving you.”

Mercedes got up and pulled on his shirt so that she could kiss him, “Let me hold him off. You’ll die if you stay.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue as she slapped Dorte into action and spun to face her brother.

***

“It’s me you want, leave them alone,” yelled Mercedes as she looked back up towards her brother and his horrible estate.

He grabbed her by the neck and squeezed, “You tried to leave.”

Mercedes struggled against his grip in shock. She tried to choke out a “ _Emile, please_.”

“Emile is not available to speak on your behalf,” hissed Jeritza. “Maybe if I kill you he’ll finally leave and stop challenging me for control.”

Jeritza was struck by something big, causing him to drop Mercedes to the ground. She sprawled out and gasped for air as she watched Jeritza turning towards Marianne. “Leave her alone,” begged Marianne. She was holding a tree limb, barely, and Mercedes hazily wondered how the young woman had found the strength to lift it.

“You don’t give me orders,” warned Jeritza.

Marianne looked wildly at Mercedes, “Run you fool!”

Mercedes rolled to her feet and started to the path. Marianne grabbed her with an incredible grip, “Get in the house! You’ll be lost out there!” Something in her voice told Mercedes she better heed the warning. She began to sprint towards the house. Behind her, Mercedes swore she heard Marianne screaming in protest and then the sounds of a terrible beast echoed across the property.

***

Inside the carriage was quiet save for Bernadetta’s breathing. She could hear Hubert urging Dorte on and she found herself hanging onto her seat as they picked up speed.

There was a snarl and something knocked hard against the carriage. Bernadetta cried out as she rolled to the far side of the structure, “Hubert?” There was no answer as the carriage knocked again and again until it was turned upside down in a painful swirling crash.

Bernadetta screamed as she tossed around inside the vehicle. The carriage rolled down an embankment and exploded into a tree. Bernadetta continued to scream as her body emitted a loud snap when she finally landed. Dorte let out a horrible sound that no horse should make.

Hubert screamed too. Not a yell. Not a shout. A mortal scream of terror that turned into a painful howl and mixed with the supernatural snarling and the wet sounds of a body being ripped to pieces. Bernadetta was frozen in place in the wreckage for three breaths. Then her adrenaline took over and she pushed herself with her arms up through the pain and the debris that crashed upon her.

Hubert was now silent. There was no way he just survived that, but hopefully whatever had just ripped him apart was too distracted by the kill to come after her. She strained to push the broken hunk of carriage that was pinning her down and filling her body with pain. Although perhaps there was not enough pain; she could not feel her legs. Bernadetta was able to shift her arms enough to press a hand into her thigh. Nothing. She was paralyzed. The realization crept into her throat as it grew tight. She stared in the darkness down at her legs in shock.

Whatever had killed Hubert let out a low growl. It was still here. Bernadetta froze and was quiet. She heard another horse approaching and then the metallic sounds of suit of armor shifting out of a saddle. The growling turned into a whine like a dog being punished and Bernadetta heard the loud thumps of big padded feet galloping down the path and away from the wreck.

She held her breath as metal shod feet now paced towards her position. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt hot tears streaming down her face as the carriage groaned. The debris was being moved off of her. Bernadetta’s eyes snapped open as a gauntlet wrapped around her wrist, and she met the sight of a horned skull helm. Two glowing red eyes stared back into her own as she was ripped free of the wreck.

Bernadetta screamed as she was deposited upon the ground. She tried to drag herself away from the thing that towered over her. Her head turned and she saw the upper half of Hubert flung into the dirt. He was gone from the chest down. Dorte was a mess of limbs in all the wrong directions, but not yet dead. Bernadetta’s eyes traced to the other horse, Bloodbane. She looked up at the Death Knight, “Emile?”

The knight’s hand twisted around his scythe, “Can you walk?”

Bernadetta trembled as she shook her head no. Emile let out a metallic sounding laugh as he crouched down beside her. “Then I suppose I will have to take you back and take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUBERTTTT NOOOO!!!!
> 
> I try to write Hubert slightly differently in each fic I do. Different backstories, different sexualities and pairings, Dadbert, and now...deadbert. This version...was not my favorite (begins Hubert x Mercedes apology tour enemies to lovers fic)
> 
> Mercedes and Jeritza's first interaction is based primarily on their B support (where he straight up attacks her)


	11. Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death is the end of one state, and the beginning of a new one. A inescapable cycle continues.

Bernadetta was laid on a bed next to _something_. Something that was breathing, in shallow little wheezes. Bernadetta trembled as she forced herself to look upon the thing. It appeared like a sort of human, but not quite right. The form was shriveled and its papery skin was mottled with broken blood vessels. Dry white hair thinly covered the creature’s scalp. Bernadetta let out a small scream as the creature’s pale reddish eyes opened. “Ah, Mrs. von Bartels, so good of you to come back,” whispered the shell of a person.

“Lystithea?” Bernadetta trembled as a bony hand embraced her own. “What, what has happened to you?” She looked as if she aged a century in an hour.

“I am afraid I have not been a good friend to you,” said Lysithea. Her words were slow as if each syllable was exhausting. Yet she continued to speak. “I fear you were tricked into coming here.”

“Lysithea, who did this to you?” Bernadetta wondered if the same fate was in store for her.

“I did this to me,” said Lysithea. Her decrepit head turned to look into Bernadetta’s eyes, “I did this to be reborn.”

“What?” Bernadetta was frightfully confused.

Lysithea attempted a smile and licked her lips, “You’re going to be my mother.”

“What!” Bernadetta looked down to see where Lysithea’s hand had migrated onto her stomach, though she had no sensation to feel what the ragged fingernails were doing.

“I was supposed to be Jeritza’s daughter, but Emile protested. I can settle for being Mr. von Vestra’s instead,” muttered Lysithea. She looked at Bernadetta with a look as close to love as she could get, “I hope I get his eyes, and your hair. Won’t that be pretty?” Her voice was fading. She was fading. “Please take good care of me.”

Bernadetta, who was feeling nothing at all below her waist, suddenly felt a sharp and painful burning. Beside her Lysithea let out a garbled moan and then went slack. The burning in Bernadetta continued as the corpse beside her began to blacken and bubble. It crisped and twisted up until there was only a pile of ash where once Lysithea had been.

Jeritza, still in armor came in to survey the scene, “It is done. Good.” He had Mercedes by the arm, and he threw her into the room, “Tend to her.” He slammed the door shut behind him and the women made silent eye contact as the lock clicked into place.

***

Something was just a little off. Hubert was on top of his bed, even though Mercedes was wrapped up in the covers. He was also wearing his clothes from, from yesterday? They seemed soiled and not appropriate for bed. Hubert gently leaned his hand on Mercedes’ shoulder, and heard her emit a soft sob.

Hubert sighed and suspected it was foolish to expect forgiveness. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done but he had a vague sense that something terrible had happened and all he was capable of was an overpowering sense of guilt. He rose from the bed and paced across the room to slip out. No one acknowledged him as he passed through the hall, wonderful.

Breakfast was sparsely attended. Shamir was impatiently trying to get Byleth to eat but the teal haired woman was too distracted. She at least seemed in high spirits as she waved at Hubert. Shamir looked incredibly frustrated and did not even spare Hubert a glance. Hubert wasn’t feeling hungry and so he continued on his way through the house.

Emile was at the saloon with a handle of whiskey and a shot glass. Hubert frowned, it couldn’t be past 8 am. Emile was muddy and, was he bloody? His clothes seemed intact, but clear as day there was the dark wet of blood soaked through his shirt. Hubert lingered in the doorway watching in disbelief as Emile poured himself a shot and took it.

Emile considered his shirt with a disgruntled sigh before stripping it off. Clearly it was not his blood, as he seemed very intact.

“What happened?” asked Hubert weakly. No acknowledgment. Well, Emile had never cared for Hubert, and this behavior was no surprise.

Hubert continued to wander until he was out of the house. Fresh tracks of some large animal were imprinted into the mud. It was curious. Hubert was admittedly no wildlife expert but these seemed quite large. They appeared to leave and return to the barn. Curiously, Hubert followed them in through the open door.

He was horrified at what he saw. Marianne von Edmund was being kept inside a cage. She looked like she’d been beaten within an inch of her life, and she was murmuring, “I’m sorry Dorte,” over and over again. Hubert immediately went to the latch and began to attempt to open it, but the mechanism would not budge. Marianne, who was sprawled out in some bloodied and muddied hay, stirred and gasped.

“No, no, no,” she whispered desperately in terror. “You, you can’t be—”

“Ms. von Edmund, who put you in here?” demanded Hubert angrily.

She was just staring at him and crossing herself with the sign of Seiros, “Why are you here?”

“I, I,” Hubert stuttered. He didn’t know, he was just wandering aimlessly, but this was important. “I followed some animal tracks and they led me here. And I cannot stand by while some fiend imprisons you like this.”

Marianne’s hands wrapped around the bars as she stared at him, “What do you remember about yesterday?”

Hubert shrugged, yesterday was a bit spotty. “Lunch I suppose, why?”

“Mr. von Vestra,” began Marianne weakly. “You are, you are dead.”

“Clearly I am not,” said Hubert in disbelief that she would claim such a thing. “Now please, who has put you in here?”

“I put me in here,” whispered Marianne. “So that I would not hurt anyone, but I did and now you’re haunting me.”

Hubert stared as he stopped fiddling with the latch, “You put yourself in here? And what do you mean you hurt me—”

“Mr. von Vestra, look at yourself, please,” begged Marianne as her eyes traced down his torso.

Hubert looked down and could see that he was just as bloodied as Emile, but it was his own blood, not someone else’s. His shirt hung in tatters covering what could best be described as nothingness where his middle ought to be. It looked fatal to say the least. The events of yesterday began to come back to him in screaming bits and pieces.

Hubert sank down and sat outside the pen. He folded his hands and rested his head against them. He was dead. He was dead, but still here. Fuck.

“Ms. von Edmund, are you suggesting that you killed me last night?”

Marianne nodded weakly. “I am so very sorry.”

Hubert wasn’t sure how to feel. He had been convinced there was no afterlife. No goddess. No heaven. No hell. The events of the past two months had challenged that worldview quite a bit. Now he was a ghost himself. This was a divine joke.

Hubert sighed, “Do you, um, normally see ghosts, or am I special because you happened to, uh, well, there’s no delicate way to put it. Can you see me because you killed me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Did anyone else, um, notice you?”

“My wife sobbed when I touched her,” whispered Hubert. She wasn’t crying because of what he’d done, she was crying because he was dead. “And Byleth waved at me. Shamir and Emile did not acknowledge me.”

“Byleth is blessed by the goddess,” whispered Marianne. “And I, I am cursed by her.”

“I’m not a religious sort, how and why did the goddess decide to curse you?”

“I was born with the crest of the beast,” murmured Marianne. “I turn into a demonic beast, I cannot control it, but others have learned how to. That is why I stay here.”

“Let me get this straight,” whispered Hubert with growing annoyance, “Byleth is crazy because she has been blessed by the goddess, and you are cursed for being born, so you become a demonic beast.” Marianne nodded weakly and Hubert wondered why anyone followed Sothis at all.

“You said others have learned to control you?” said Hubert carefully.

Marianne nodded and sighed, “Lysithea was able keep my transformations under control.” She sighed, “I transformed yesterday because I foolishly thought I could stop Jeritza. I saved your wife, but I have no control in that state.”

Hubert frowned, “So really, Jeritza killed me not you.”

“No I, I definitely did it,” whispered Marianne. It was impossible to ignore the blood caking her finger tips and the bruises upon her. She had been in a serious scuffle.

“That’s like saying arrows kill people, they do, but only when an archer is behind them,” whispered Hubert. He rose and nearly dusted himself off before he remembered he was dead and it didn’t really matter.

“Where are you going?” asked Marianne in a panic.

“To figure out how to be a vengeful ghost,” grumbled Hubert.

***

_Six Months Later_

Hubert and Hanneman ended up being interred in the Hrym crypts. Their bodies were not fit for an open casket, and the families had elected to go with empty closed ones for convenience and smell. The von Vestra clan argued with each other all through their son’s funeral over inheritances and title transfers while Mercedes quietly sat with her brother, Emile this time, not Jeritza, beside her. Following the funeral the two had packed up and sold off the cramped home in Enbarr. That had netted her a reasonable sum and allowed her to cut ties with her in-laws.

Lady Edelgard was the only one making inquiries and demanding answers. “An animal attack? What kind of animals are running around Hrym?”

“Big ones,” said Emile with a quiet shrug.

The imperial princess offered a generous reward to anyone who caught the beast of Hrym and brought it to her taxidermied. A few fools took her up on it, but no one was ever able to collect on the offer. With that, Mercedes said goodbye to Enbarr forever, and returned to Hrym. She wanted to run, she wanted to escape, but she felt obligated to tend to Bernadetta.

Mercedes had stretched her two semesters of nursing classes as far as she could in caring for Bernadetta. She had no sensation whatsoever from her bellybutton down and required lots of care. She also just needed a friend. Lysithea had died suddenly, and not long after Marianne had taken her things and departed quietly in the night without a goodbye. Linhardt was dead and interred, and Jeritza made no moves to replace his footman. Shamir and Dedue carried on. Byleth continued being Byleth.

It was winter and boring around Hrym and so Bernadetta and Mercedes spent much of their time doing things that could be done with their hands from the comfort of a chair. They were presently knitting up little baby clothes from the yarn Mercedes had taught herself to spin. She was adjusting to country life and all the things one had to do themselves because they could not just pop down to a shop to pick up the supplies.

Mercedes paused her knitting and felt a small kick within her. Bernadetta was not the only one who had conceived on the night of the carnival. The two women were trying to support each other, they joked their babies would be twins in a fashion. They tried to remain optimistic and bright though there was the nagging question of how Bernadetta would give birth without the use of her muscles.

Jeritza mercifully left them alone. He was scarce as he spent hours at his training grounds, and his evenings with Byleth. Mercedes had slowly put together that Jeritza, not Emile, was the one in love with Byleth. The woman seemed to be the only thing that soothed the beast and so Mercedes encouraged Byleth to be allowed out and around as much as possible. It hurt fiercely to talk with her though.

Byleth would lean in close to Mercedes and whisper things like, “Hubert says hello. Oh, oh he says to tell you he loves you.”

“Why doesn’t he tell me himself then?” Mercedes was sick of entertaining this particular little quirk. It hurt and Byleth was too gone to understand that.

Byleth watched as the sugar cubes set out for their tea fell over. She looked back at Mercedes, “He’s still learning how to communicate.”

Mercedes gave a tired look at the cubes and let her eyes wander around the parlor, “Well. Hubert if you’re listening you should know your family was as awful as you expected at your funeral. Edelgard and Ferdinand were appalled by it, but you would have found it hilarious.”

Byleth was nodding along and then her eyes got wide and she smiled. She put a hand over Mercedes’, “He said he’s not surprised. And, and he’s asking if you’ll read whatever next book your reading out loud so that he can enjoy it too.”

Mercedes withdrew her hand and tried not to sob. That night however as she settled into bed and opened her book she looked around and while she felt foolish, she began to quietly read. He wasn’t there, but, in a small way the act made her feel like he was. She made a habit of it.

***

Being a ghost was the worst. Hubert wasn’t alone though because the Hrym lands were apparently packed with the lingering dead. Hanneman was making the most of eternal life down in the archives. There seemed to be other ghosts down there too but Hubert didn’t like that place so much. He preferred the house because that’s where all the people he cared about were. Time didn’t seem to flow in Hrym House quite like it had when he was alive. He missed things that were happening and it was hard to remember things, as if he couldn’t always form new memories. Some things stuck out though.

Bernadetta’s back had been broken and now she lived her days stuck in a chair. This hell was subsequently worsened when she learned she was pregnant, although in that she was not alone, because Mercedes was as well. Mercedes birthed a healthy baby boy without complication. Bernadetta faced the knife because she could not push and the baby wasn’t coming out safely.

“I don’t want to be a ghost,” whispered Bernadetta. Her words seeped with fear. Hubert had found he was a guilt stricken ghost, and Bernadetta was unfortunately fear stricken.

“I’m sorry,” said Hubert, unsure what was worse, that she was stuck a ghost or stuck with him as her only familiar company.

Bernadetta did not like the other ghosts at all. She kept to her bedroom and didn’t come out. She cried a lot under the bed, although Hubert stayed around her when he could so she wouldn’t be so afraid.

Hubert didn’t care for the other ghosts in the house either. Ancient and recent Hryms packed the place and they were dark and dangerous. Eventually Hubert found his own little space to occupy: his son’s closet. He kept the other ghosts out of his son’s room at night because the ghosts seemed to be drawn to the boy. Hubert kept vigil over the little squirt’s bassinet for months. Things got a lot more fun and interesting though when his son started speaking to him.

Hubert figured out how to roll a ball. It was pretty small act in the grand scheme of things, but it was pretty big to him to be able to send something physical across the floor. Mercedes would sometimes pause whatever chore she was seeing too and look down at their son, “What are you doing Hubie?”

“Playing.” He sent the ball into the shadowy corner of the room. “With dad.” The ball slowly rolled back.

Hubert felt guilty that he didn’t have as much connection with his daughter. She looked like him, but when he stared at her all he sensed was Lysithea. As she grew that only became more and more apparent. Bernadetta, in a rare brave move, decided that instead of hanging out beneath her old bed, she was going to live beneath their daughter’s.

“I think you scare her,” said Hubert one particular evening as little Lysithea refused to go to bed because of the ghosts. Jeritza was proving to be a strict father, and he silently carted his daughter to her bed and told her to stay put.

“I’m trying to,” said Bernadetta as her gray eyes flashed with malice. She had learned how to become a vengeful ghost.

Hubert never got the hang of properly haunting though no matter how much he tried to pester Jeritza. Frustratingly enough, Jeritza could not sense him but Emile certainly could. Emile was, all things considered, decent enough but as the years stretched on Hubert noticed that Emile was present less and less. Jeritza had beaten him down to the point where eventually, Hubert did not see Emile at all. That was when Hubert learned there were things he could not protect his son from.

***

Mercedes spied two little feet sticking out of the covers as she sat on the bed. “Good morning,” she said as she tickled the exposed soles.

“Mom, no,” whined the little boy as the lump in the blankets buried himself deeper into the warm pile.

“Come on it’s Sunday, time to wake up and get ready for church,” said Mercedes as her fingers moved up to his little ankles.

“I don’t want to go, stop,” he protested though his giggles as he tried to curl up in a ball. “Can’t I skip?”

Mercedes laughed warmly as she hugged herself around the squirming boy in the sheets, “No. Your father was always trying to skip too. Come on, we’ll bake cookies after.”

She pulled the blankets down and pushed the pillows up to reveal a head of dark curling hair. Two big blue eyes squinted back at her as she kissed his scrunched up face. He groaned in protest, he was so much like his father.

From the doorway, her brother paused, “Get up Hubert. You’re going to make us late.”

Her son sucked in a short scared breath, “Yes Uncle Jeritza.” He quickly pushed free of his bed and went to his closet. Mercedes did not like the way his little hands trembled as he picked out his church suit and shakily started to pull off his pajamas.

Her niece, already dressed and ready, peered around Emile and glared, “Hurry up.” She had long purple hair and piercing light green eyes. She was not as fond of her half-brother as Mercedes had been of Emile at that age. She was impatient, brilliant, and acted far older than she was. Though for all her maturity she did insist a ghost lived under her bed and tormented her at night.

Mercedes got up and smoothed her skirts as she walked to push the audience from her son’s room so he could dress in peace. “A word please.” She closed the door behind her.

“You frighten him,” hissed Mercedes to her brother.

Jeritza looked unperturbed, “He’s weak.”

“He’s _six_ ,” she whispered.

Jeritza folded his arms, “He needs to be able to wield the scythe if he is to carry on the house.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes, “He’s not a Hrym.”

“He will be,” warned Jertiza darkly as he walked away from her. Mercedes’ blood boiled at the thought. Not if she could help it.

The door cracked open when Emile’s footsteps had faded away and Hubie’s trusting blue eyes stared up at his mother. “I’m ready, I’m sorry.” He said sorry often it had become his most frequent word. Mercedes knelt down and smoothed his hair out of his face and gave him a reassuring kiss on his head.

She noted that one of his window panes was fogged over despite it being summer, “Hubie, go get some breakfast from Dedue, I’ll be down shortly.”

Her son nodded obediently and hurried down the stairs. Mercedes walked over to the curious window. As she stared her breath caught in her throat. An unseen finger was etching ‘RUN’ into the condensation. Mercedes was frozen as she stared at it. Beneath it, a small rough heart was drawn out, and an “-H”. That spurred her into action. 

Mercedes looked around the room and grabbed a few essentials. She was reminded of the frantic night when her mother had burst into her bedroom and started grabbing clothes into a bag. Mercedes had made a promise to Bernadetta to watch over her child, but now she found herself willing to break it. She was going to sacrifice one child to save another.

Mercedes gave one fleeting look back to the room and whispered, “Good bye Hubert.” She did not grab much from her own room. There was whatever valuables she could carry to pawn later and the money she kept hidden in her mattress.

Down in the kitchen Mercedes was all smiles despite her pounding heart. “Dedue, I’ll pack the picnic basket,” she offered as the silent chef readied their contribution to the weekly luncheon that followed church service. Her belongings went in, along with some snacks. She took her son’s hand and they got ready to walk through the forest to the chapel, her basket heavy with the few possessions they were going to start over with.

Following church Mercedes took her chance to slip away. Her son didn’t question it as she led him not to the luncheon but towards the village and then towards the road. She was not entirely sure where they were going, just away. Enbarr was tempting, familiar, but it was too close. Mercedes hoped Annette would not be too shocked by her dropping by, because she did not know where else to head. She was improvising. She did not look back towards Hrym House, but forward towards her freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this work to the end, I hope you found something you enjoyed if you made it this far.


End file.
